


Shackled

by Obsessionist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, A Little More than canon-typical violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur has to get his head out of his ass first, Arthur is an idiot, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), But it takes a while, Canon Era, Deviates From Canon, Did I Mention Angst?, Episode: s03e12-13 The Coming of Arthur, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Magical collar, Poor Merlin (Merlin), Self-Sacrificing Merlin, Sexual Assault, Slavery, Slow Burn, WARNINGS APPLY, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 76,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionist/pseuds/Obsessionist
Summary: Merlin sacrificed his freedom to ensure Arthur’s escape from Jarl’s fortress. Arthur launched a one-man war against slavery to bring him back. But when long-held secrets are brought to light, everything changes between them, and not necessarily for the better. Will Merlin ever truly be free?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 495
Kudos: 414





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completed, and I intend to post daily updates. Enjoy!

Arthur Pendragon, Crowned Prince of Camelot, had started a one-man war against slavery.

Some believed it was retaliation. He had been captured by a slave trader during an important quest, the disruption of which could have had unspecified but undoubtedly dire consequences for Camelot.

Some believed it was because the prince was a noble, principled man who was finally taking a stance against one of the great injustices of the land.

Some believed he just wanted an excuse to get out of the castle more often. Others guessed that he did it to deliberately aggravate his father, who had been opposed to the campaign from the start and had refused to allocate any resources to aid him.

Very few people knew the true reason, and even they struggled to really understand.

But Arthur did not care what anyone thought of his actions or assumed about his motives. He was single-minded in his purpose, determined in his efforts, ruthless in his judgement and relentless in his search.

Because the truth of the matter was that Arthur was looking for someone. And Arthur would not rest until he found him.

ooOOoo

_“What comes next?” Gwaine grunted._

_Arthur and Gwaine were dead-locked, grappling fiercely before a drunken crowd expecting them to fight to the death. The two friends had no desire to kill each other, but this was a tight situation and their plan had not exactly been well thought through. The rules stated that one man in the arena had to die or they both would, and as the centre of attention it was impossible to somehow fake or rig it, let alone try to escape._

_“There is no next,” Arthur admitted._

_What they really needed was a distraction…_

_As if on cue, the flames of one of the torches set around the room suddenly flared up high – probably the result of some drunken imbecile spilling his drink on it, Arthur guessed – and caught the net of ropes overhead on fire. The blaze quickly spread and as men began yelling and swearing and scattering out of the way of falling embers, Arthur realised that this was their chance._

_He and Gwaine swiftly untangled themselves from each other and launched into the fray, using fists alone to take down the first two men and then seizing their weapons to better fight their way through._

_Arthur saw an opening to the exit but didn’t take it, his gaze searching urgently through the crowd for the familiar face of his manservant even as he fended off blows coming at him from every side._

_A candelabra crashed to the ground – the heat must have caused the cords to snap – and men leapt out of the way. Through the gap Arthur finally saw Merlin and immediately changed his course to get to him. Merlin watched his approach with wide eyes, no doubt feeling overwhelmed and slightly panicked by the sudden outbreak of violence, though he still possessed enough wits about him to duck away from the swing of an uncoordinated fist and take refuge behind a pillar._

_A particularly well-aimed thrust of a sword towards Arthur’s gut forced him to focus; he twisted tightly and parried the next heavy blow that was clearly not the work of an inebriated man. He was bogged down for a few crucial moments, and when he finally delivered the slash that ended the man’s interference – and life – it was to see that Merlin was in trouble._

_Jarl had a hand gripped around Merlin’s throat. Merlin was scrabbling frantically against the brutish, unyielding arm blocking his airflow, eyes boggling but looking straight at Arthur._

_“Unhand him!” Arthur yelled, cutting a furious swath through the men in his path._

_Jarl’s eyes gleamed. “Drop your weapon, or I will throttle the boy.” Proving that he would make good on his threat, he tightened his hold and Arthur could tell from Merlin’s terror-stricken eyes that he couldn’t breathe._

_Arthur’s blade tipped towards the floor immediately. “Let him go.”_

_Jarl nodded to a couple of his men who wasted no time in grabbing Arthur’s arms and wrenching the sword from his grip. Thankfully, once Arthur was secure, Jarl loosened his fist, allowing Merlin to gulp desperately for air._

_But Merlin had barely given himself a moment to recover before he was glaring at Arthur and gasping out, “Arthur, you_ idiot _!”_

_Arthur gave him an affronted look. “That’s gratitude for you.”_

_“You have to get out of here! You have more important things to do right now than worry about me.”_

_He was talking about the quest, Arthur knew, although Merlin_ shouldn’t _know. But despite Arthur’s frequent claims to the contrary he was well aware that Merlin wasn’t stupid, so of course he had worked out that they were going after the Cup of Life. He was right; recovering the Cup was of vital importance, and if Arthur failed to do so he would not only be failing his father but endangering the lives of everyone in Camelot._

_The idea that Arthur would leave Merlin behind was ridiculous, though, and he was about to tell his servant something to that effect when he saw Merlin glance significantly to the side and remembered that Gwaine was unaccounted for._

_A few tense seconds passed. Then Merlin yelled, “_ Now!” _and once again all hell broke loose as Gwaine cut down the two men restraining Arthur and threw him a spare sword._

_But the enemy knew his weakness now. When Arthur gained the upper hand they converged on Merlin, pinning him to the ground and digging the sharp point of a blade into the fragile skin at his throat. Blood trickled down his neck._

_Arthur froze, knowing that if he pressed the attack they would kill him._

_“Go, Arthur!” Merlin yelled._

_“I can’t-”_

_“Gwaine, get him out of here!”_

_Gwaine grabbed his arm; Arthur tried to shake him off. “I won’t-”_

_“GO!” Merlin thundered, and at the same moment a wall of fire leapt up between them, blocking both Arthur’s view of and his access to Merlin._

_“No!” Arthur cried, but Merlin’s order still rang in his ears and Gwaine was still pulling on his arm and against his will, Arthur obeyed._

_They broke out of there and ran, and kept on running, until the pursuit fell back and the slaver’s stronghold was far behind them._

_Only when they stopped did the horror of what they had just done hit Arthur. Hard._

_They had left Merlin behind. They had_ abandoned _him!_

_“We have to go back!” Arthur gasped, lurching back the way they had come._

_Gwaine caught him. “No. Merlin did that for a reason. And it had better be as damn important as he made it out to be, or when I get my hands on him I’m going to kill him.”_

_Arthur remembered about the Cup of Life._

_He was torn._

_“We’ll go back and get him when the job is done,” Gwaine promised. “It’s what he wanted, I could tell.”_

_Arthur hated it, and he was furious with himself because he knew what he was going to do. What he had to do._

_“We’re looking for something called the Cup of Life,” he explained._

_The journey was fraught with danger, but though the Druids were reluctant to hand it over – the leader kept glancing around him, as though expecting to see someone else – Arthur managed to convince them after he swore to keep it safe from those who would use its power for evil, and he made it back to Camelot in half the usual time. He made quick, but thorough, work of locking the Cup down in the vaults and then he was off again to retrieve his wayward manservant._

_When he returned to the stronghold, though, the place was empty._

_He didn’t know why they had left. Maybe they had worked out who he was and feared his return. Maybe there was another reason that had nothing to do with Arthur._

_But either way, they were gone._

_Merlin was gone._

ooOOoo

Arthur searched for a year.

He killed or arrested many slave traders, and he liberated many slaves. Though finding Merlin was his ultimate goal and it drove everything he did, Arthur was not blind to the plight of those poor, broken souls who had been forced into a life of brutality, back-breaking work, appalling conditions and a harrowing lack of personal freedom. He did what he could for them, either returning them to their families if that were possible or otherwise finding them secure employment and a place to stay.

He believed that what he was doing was right and just, because _no_ human should be treated that way, and he knew that Camelot and the other regions would be better places when his work was done.

He met quite a lot of resistance, especially from those for whom owning slaves was a well-established way of life. But they found that the Pendragon name and the sharp edge of Arthur’s blade were difficult to argue with.

Others supported Arthur and assisted in his efforts as much as they were able. Guinevere was the most passionate; she said she was proud of him and believed that what he was doing proved that he would someday make a great king. She spent her spare time sewing clothes to donate, delivering food, searching for jobs and housing, providing a listening ear and a gentle touch, essentially doing all she could to help the ex-slaves settle into their new lives. When Arthur expressed his worry that she was working too hard, she gave him a knowing look but refrained from turning the words back on him, simply stating that it helped to stay busy. He knew what she meant.

The help Gaius gave was invaluable, too. He tended to the many wounded and sickly that Arthur brought in, though his haunted eyes and sombre expression spoke to the ongoing grief he felt. Arthur suspected that he was seeing Merlin in each of their faces, because Arthur was unconsciously doing the same – imagining Merlin being that scarily thin, imagining Merlin with those scars, imagining Merlin’s eyes looking that broken and defeated. But none of them _were_ Merlin, which was even worse because they had no idea where he was or what was being done to him or if they would ever see him again.

Arthur told Gaius not to give up hope, even as he struggled to heed his own advice. No matter how far he travelled or how many people he questioned, it seemed that Merlin was nowhere to be found. He would never admit it to anyone but, as determined as he was to bring Merlin home, after so long Arthur was close to despairing.

“…tall but scrawny, dark brown hair, blue eyes, abnormally large ears, kind of triangular-shaped head, in his early twenties…”

Arthur delivered the same description he had repeated hundreds of times without any enthusiasm or expectation that these townsfolk would give him the response he wanted to hear. None of them looked rich enough to own slaves or even rub shoulders with people who did. He had no reason to think he would have any more success here than he had anywhere else.

So when a man scratched his head thoughtfully as Arthur addressed them, and then spoke up with the words, “I think I might’a seen ‘im,” Arthur could hardly believe his ears. He stared in muted shock for a few moments before his brain kicked back into gear.

“When? Where?” he demanded.

“Well, now, I can’t be sure,” the man drawled, “but it sure sounds a lot like that skinny lad I saw, about a month ago, up at Commander Briac’s fort.”

“Briac?” Arthur thought he knew of every slaver in the five kingdoms, but the name did not sound familiar.

“King Cenred’s top man and leader of his army, don’t yeh know. I used to be in the King’s army, yeh see, but me leg was injured in a battle and it ain’t been the same since. I went to ask the Commander for a hardship allowance but he refused to give me so much as a dime!”

Arthur’s opinion of Cenred dropped even lower. A solider or knight of Camelot would never be treated with such disregard. He tossed the man a small bag of coin. “Anything you could tell me about the boy would be greatly appreciated.”

The man pocketed the money with a smile and a slight bow. “Thankee, my lord.”  
  


“The boy?” Arthur prompted.

“Yeah. There was a kid who looks about how yeh described ‘im. The Commander had ‘im collared with a long chain attached to lead him around by.”

Arthur felt anger bubble up within him, and his determination to rescue Merlin increased tenfold. But then his hopes that he had finally found a real lead were shattered by the man continuing, “He’s Briac’s little pet sorcerer, I’ve heard tell.”

“Oh. It’s not him, then,” he said dully. “Merlin isn’t a sorcerer.”

The man’s face lit up with recognition, and he clapped a hand to his thigh as he exclaimed, “Merlin! That’s the name I was tryin’ ta remember. The boy made a noise at some point, and Commander Briac yelled ‘Shut up, slave’, but the kid – talked back he did – he said ‘My name’s Merlin’. Boy was Briac mad. I think he wanted to beat the kid to a pulp but he had to finish kicking me out first.”

Antagonising his master because he refused to be treated like a lesser human being was certainly the sort of crazy, stubborn, stupidly _brave_ thing Merlin would do. A sad smile twitched at Arthur’s lips. “That sounds like him. You must be mistaken about the sorcery, though, because the idea that _Merlin_ has magic is ludicrous.”

The man looked dubious. “If yeh say so.”

“You have been a great help,” Arthur told the man. “If you could also point me in the direction of Briac’s house, I would be very grateful.” He twirled a gold coin in his fingers, letting him know he was willing to pay for the information. In fact, he would probably give an entire chest full of gold for the chance to find Merlin, but that much money would be difficult to justify to his father.

“I can do that,” the man said agreeably, providing a detailed description of the route he should take to get there. Arthur did not realise that he was mentally preparing himself for the battle ahead until his informer glanced to the hand he had tightened around the pommel of his sword and commented, “I ain’t sure that goin’ in there swinging a sword is a good idea, friend. Leastwise not on yer own.”

Arthur straightened. “I am a considerable warrior.”

The man looked him over. “I don’t doubt that. I’ve heard the stories; you’re the man who frees slaves and goes up against the most infamous of slavers alone to do it. But where Briac lives ain’t a house, it’s a _fortress_. He has a full contingent of Essetir’s best soldiers on guard at all times. Slipping in unnoticed would be difficult. Getting yer hands on his most prized possession-” Arthur bristled at that “-would be nearly impossible. But trying to fight yer way out? That’d be suicide for sure.”

Arthur frowned. “What choice do I have? I cannot just leave him there. I _will not_.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This Merlin guy must be a man of great importance.”

Arthur could have said, ‘He is just a servant’. But he told the truth instead. “He is a friend of mine.”

The man nodded slowly. “He’s lucky to have yeh. There ain’t many who would face Briac’s wrath, even in the name of friendship. I wish yeh luck, and hope that yeh succeed in freeing him. But heed me warning: Briac ain’t a man to be trifled with.”

“I will. Thank you.” Arthur proffered the coin, but the man waved it away.

“Keep it. Yeh’ve been generous enough already, and yeh may need the money. Who knows, maybe Briac would be willing to sell.”

The thought of _purchasing_ Merlin was repulsive.

But it did give Arthur an idea.

ooOOoo


	2. Chapter Two

Merlin braced himself for the next blow, instinctively ducking his head and curling into a tighter ball so the worst of the damage would be inflicted on his back.

There was a loud _bang_ and Merlin flinched, but the pain he was expecting never came. Confused, it took him a moment to realise that the sound had come from the door hitting the wall as someone carelessly flung it open.

“How many times, Enbarr?” Briac barked angrily. “You knock _first!_ I was in the middle of teaching this scum a lesson.”

Merlin didn’t need the vicious boot in his side to tell him he was the ‘scum’ being referred to, but he probably could have done with a filter on his mouth because his response was not particularly wise. “Is that what you were trying to do?” he croaked. “I could hardly tell; you were doing a dismal job.” The world exploded into a shower of stars as he received a kick to the head for his trouble.

Merlin only lost a few seconds this time; when awareness returned Enbarr was explaining why he had interrupted.

“…very insistent that he speak with you immediately.”

Briac was frowning. “Did he give a name?”

“Yes, sir. Maehel.”

“Maehel,” repeated Briac, his frown deepening. “He is one of those slavers who works the eastern border, isn’t he?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Interesting that he would show up here, now.”

“How’s that, sir?”

Briac ignored the question. “I will speak with him. He is in the audience chamber?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime, Enbarr, I want you to summon the First Guard for a training exercise.”

“Sir?”

“Elite soldiers or otherwise, a little extra training never goes amiss. Have them take up defensive positions in the interior corridors, as if preparing for an internal attack.”

If Enbarr was puzzled by the order he didn’t question it, merely stating “Yes, sir,” and bowing on his way out the door.

“Maehel,” Briac murmured. He seemed lost in thought and for a few moments Merlin dared to hope that he would be forgotten.

“It seems I have business to attend to,” Briac said abruptly. “I had hoped to use a more personal touch in your training today, but I am afraid it will have to wait.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, I’m sure you’re very busy,” Merlin said. “In fact, if you can’t schedule me in, I’m happy to wait until next week… or next month, or even forever-”

Briac slapped him full force across the face. Merlin’s head snapped sideways, nearly sending him reeling, and a red-hot sting blossomed across his cheek. On reflex he reached up to comfort the injury, glaring daggers at the brute he refused to call ‘master’.

“You still have not learned when to shut up,” Briac growled.

Merlin shrugged. “Don't feel bad; Arthur could never get me to shut up either.”

“Perhaps I cannot silence you,” Briac said. He leaned closer and slowly raised a fist. The circlet of metal around his wrist glinted in the light from the window. “But I can make you scream.”

Merlin opened his mouth – to protest, to apologise, to spit out another flippant comment in reckless defiance – but before he could utter a single word, the pain struck.

It was an implosion of heat and light and agony. It shot lightning bolts up into his skull, whiting out his vision, and refracted back down his spine to his extremities, sending his whole body into spasms. He collapsed to the floor and didn’t even feel when his head struck cold stone, limbs jerking and writhing under the relentless assault.

A casual wave of Briac’s hand cut off the pain.

He leaned over Merlin as he panted and gasped for breath, a triumphant smirk written across his features. “Told you.”

“Didn’t – you have – somewhere to be?” Merlin rasped.

“You are quite right. But do not worry, I can continue your training from a distance. Scream quietly, though, will you? I do not want my meeting with this so-called slaver to be unduly interrupted.”

“I’ll – do my – best,” Merlin said dryly.

Briac snorted. “This shouldn’t take long.”

He strode out of the room, black cloak billowing behind him.

As his footsteps faded, Merlin cautiously slipped a hand up to his neck. His questing fingers were met with heated metal. It was cooling now, but when Briac had activated the spell, the collar would have been hot enough to brand him if his neck had not been so heavily scarred already. He never felt his skin burning, not even the first time, too consumed by the magic tearing through his insides. The worst part about it was that the collar fed on his power; it was _his_ magic, wrested from his control, inflicting agonies far beyond anything Merlin had felt before, even when he had been on his deathbed.

The collar was a remnant from the days of the Old Religion, designed to subjugate and control those with magic who would not willingly submit to the priestesses. Unfortunately, because it drew on the magic of the wearer, turning their power against them, it did not require any magical talent to control. Briac wore the matching bracelet which allowed him to regulate the flow of Merlin’s magic and inflict pain at will. Merlin was lucky that Briac often favoured a hands-on approach; the beatings and physical torture were far easier to bear in comparison.

Sassing-off had been a mistake, though. Usually Briac dragged him along by attaching a chain to his collar, which was humiliating but sufferable. By leaving him here and walking away, he was ensuring that enough distance would grow between them to activate the spell. Merlin was tempted to follow him but he knew there were guards outside the door. Besides, it was already too late.

The pain was starting.

Merlin scrabbled at the collar as it once again began radiating heat. It scorched his fingers but he didn’t care, clawing desperately at skin and metal in a futile attempt to escape the collar.

He wanted to fight, to run, but the collar had him trapped here. If he was more than 30 paces from the bracelet Briac wore, he would be left incapacitated and screaming his lungs out until Briac came to retrieve him. Even now he could feel the paralysis growing in his muscles, anchoring him to the floor, leaving him helplessly vulnerable to the pain that would strike as soon as Briac took just a few more steps. Merlin already knew from experience that any magic he brought to bear against the collar would only strengthen the spell.

Keeping quiet would be impossible, but still he tried, choking down a cry as lightning lanced through his veins.

It wasn’t long until he was screaming.

ooOOoo

Arthur stood in the audience chamber, simmering with impatience. He was the Crown Prince of Camelot and he was not accustomed to being kept waiting. Of course, he was not here under his own name. He was here as Maehel, a slaver he had killed on the eastern border of Cenred’s land six months ago. The disguise he wore was horribly uncomfortable; the fabric was almost as scratchy as the shirt Merlin had lent him when he was masquerading as a peasant. But it made him look the part; now he just had to act it convincingly.

Arthur straightened as a tall, broad-shouldered man marched into the room. He was built like a house of stone, all muscle and sinew sheathed in black armour. He walked with the gait of a soldier; straight-backed, head high, steps regimented and a hand casually resting the pommel of his sword. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, even as he spread his arms in welcome.

“Trader Maehel! How good to finally meet you.”

Arthur bowed, hiding the relief he felt at not being recognised as an imposter straight away. “Commander Briac. Thank you for granting me an audience.”

“What business brings you here? I have not seen a slaver in these halls for near on a year now. I heard things were heating up for you lot; something to do with a vigilante princeling causing trouble?”

“Yes, sir. The young Pendragon brat from Camelot has been wreaking terrible havoc on our trade.”

Briac scratched at the light stubble on his chin. “Pity. I’ve had some good stock from your kind in the past. But you are aware that King Cenred cannot officially condone your actions, nor can he offer aid against these attacks. We share an understanding, not an alliance.”

“Of course, Commander. I am here purely to negotiate a transaction.”

Briac waved a dismissive hand. “I have slaves enough, Maehel.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve heard. In fact, you are one of the few men of prominence who has yet to be visited by the vigilante; many others have fallen to his sword.”

“Pendragon would not dare to venture this far into Cenred’s kingdom. This house in particular is a stronghold that has never been defeated.”

“Your army is legend, Commander. I have no doubt that your house will remain secure even in these turbulent times.”

“Your warning is worthless, then.”

“I want no money from you, Commander. I would like to make a purchase, if I may. You see, I have a wealthy buyer who has been kept waiting for quite some time. With Pendragon stalking our borders I have been unable to secure a suitable slave to meet their strict requirements. If I do not deliver soon, it will be my head.”

“I see. As I am in possession of a number of slaves, you think to buy one from me.”

“At full price, I assure you. I have no intention of making a profit at your expense; I merely wish to appease my buyer for the sake of future relations.”

“Indeed. Well, for a few hundred gold coins I suppose I could part with one of my workers.”

“May I see your wares?”

“Of course. Follow me, Trader Maehel.”

Arthur followed Briac into the corridor. He itched to draw his sword; killing the commander would strike a blow at the heart of Cenred’s army and he had never been so close, but he was not here for war. He was here for Merlin. He just had to hope that he had come to the right place.

“So how is it that you have escaped the young Pendragon’s wrath?” Briac asked conversationally. “You say there are not many slavers left.”

“I barely escaped with my life,” Arthur said. “While Pendragon was liber- uh, stealing my slaves, I took the chance to flee. Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit, but at least I only lost my stock and not my life.”

“Live to get rich another day, hm?”

Arthur chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Well, these are the slaves’ quarters. _Stand to attention!_ ”

The booming yell had two dozen men, women and children scrambling to stand at the foot of their beds. They were trembling and wide-eyed with terror. In a single, sweeping glance Arthur could tell that all of them were terribly malnourished and were worked to the point of exhaustion. Some bore cruel injuries on their arms and faces; Arthur had no doubt that their tattered clothing hid worse wounds still.

Rage bubbled within him and he itched for his sword again, this time to right the injustice he could see here. But he was one man in the midst of an enemy stronghold, and he had not yet found what he sought.

Arthur walked along the rows of people, pretending to listen attentively as Briac described the working qualities of each slave. He looked carefully into each face, seeing the fear and fatigue in their eyes. His heart went out to them. But Merlin was not here.

“So, Trader Maehel? What will it be?”

“Is this really the best you have? If I take one of these poor specimens with me my buyer will laugh in my face and slam the door!”

“Don’t be deceived by appearances – give them a little physical incentive and they will astound you with how much work they can do.”

“Are you certain there are no other slaves in your household? I am willing to pay 500 gold coins if you can provide me with some quality merchandise.”

Briac gave a low whistle. “500 coins?”

“Paid straight up,” Arthur confirmed. He was lying through his teeth; the most he could scrounge up before riding out here was 200 coins and even that would have to be returned to the palace treasury if he did not want his father to have his hide. He just needed confirmation that Merlin was in the building; then he would improvise. “So, can you help me?”

“I am sorry, Maehel. Your offer is generous, but I am afraid that the only other slave I have is on loan from King Cenred and is therefore not mine to sell.”

“Let me see him. If he is of value to a king, perhaps my buyer would be willing to pay more for him.”

“Who is your buyer?”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry, my customers rely on my discretion.”

“Hm. Well, I am almost certain that Cenred will not be willing to part with the boy, but inspect him you may. Come.”

They walked through another half-dozen corridors, Arthur trying to keep track of their route while noting the number of guards they passed along the way. His informant had not been exaggerating when he had called this place a fortress; every passageway was patrolled by at least four soldiers, each of them armed to the teeth.

Getting out of here was not going to be easy.

As they turned another corner, they were assaulted by the sound of hoarse screams coming from the room at the end of the hall.

Arthur froze. “What is that?”

A twisted smirk appeared on Briac’s face. “The boy is a troublemaker. But I have ways of keeping him under control.”

Arthur’s gut clenched at the thought of what this brute of a man could have done to his servant. “My buyer will not pay for damaged goods,” he said tightly.

Briac waved a dismissive hand. “His performance remains unhindered.”

To Arthur’s relief, the screams cut off as they approached the doors.

“After you, Trader Maehel.”

Tense with anticipation and dread, Arthur slowly pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

A limp figure lay sprawled at his feet. The slave’s clothes were tattered, blood-stained and torn; his arms and legs were frightfully thin and dark bruises showed up in stark relief against his pale skin. His face was hidden from view, buried in the crook of his arms, so Arthur could not be certain of his identity, but the colour of the long, straggly hair was familiar, and those ears poking out… Arthur would recognise them anywhere.

Hardly daring to breathe, Arthur knelt down beside him and reached out to gently turn him over. But no sooner had he grasped those bony shoulders than the boy heaved in a desperate gulp of air and _twisted,_ flailing in a frantic flurry of limbs, trying to beat him off.

Arthur caught his wrists. “Wait, calm down-”

Wild blue eyes stared up at him – and widened in shock. “ _Arthur_.”

ooOOoo


	3. Chapter Three

Arthur couldn’t believe it. After a year of searching, after almost giving up hope that Merlin would ever be found, he was _here,_ he was right here. He was alive.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to crush Merlin in a fierce hug, but he could not help the huge smile that spread across his face. “Good to see you, old friend.”

“Arthur?” Merlin looked as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He glanced from Arthur’s face to the hands that still held his stick-thin wrists in a light grip, searching for proof that he wasn’t imagining this.

“It’s me,” Arthur confirmed gently.

“As I suspected.”

Arthur whirled around. He had forgotten that Briac was standing right behind him.

“Do you take me for a fool, Arthur Pendragon? News of Trader Maehel’s death reached my ears months ago. I was curious as to who would be bold enough to stroll in here, into one of the Great Strongholds of Essetir, and lie brazenly to my face. But of course it was you. Is this truly what your one-man crusade against slavery has been about? One pathetic little serving boy?”

Arthur stood to his feet, a hand going to the pommel of his sword. “I have simply come to claim what is mine. Let us leave here without hindrance and I will trouble you no further.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that. The boy is King Cenred’s single most prized possession.”

“Why? Because he was mine first? Cenred has never won a battle against Camelot; my servant hardly counts as a trophy of war.”

Briac laughed. “A trophy? No. King Cenred couldn’t care less where he came from, though it is a delicious irony that you were completely oblivious to his true nature. Of course, had you known, you would not have had the intelligence or the wit to use him. You would have had him put to death. What a waste.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Briac smirked at him. “Of course not. It seems your reputation for stupidity is well deserved.”

Arthur drew his sword. “Enough! I came here for Merlin and I am taking him with me. If I have to go through you, so be it.”

Briac snapped his fingers and the hall behind him filled with soldiers. “You are more than welcome to try.”

Arthur swallowed. He might be renown as the most skilled swordsman in the five kingdoms, but these odds were stacked a little too high, even for him. “Merlin, on your feet. We’re leaving.”

Merlin scrambled to do as he was told. He staggered slightly but managed to regain his footing. “Arthur-”

“Not now, Merlin.”

Arthur twirled his sword, mentally preparing himself for the battle ahead. At least the narrow hall would limit the mobility of the enemy soldiers, but he still didn’t like their chances of getting out of there. Unless-

Making a spur of the moment decision, Arthur launched towards Briac. He swung his blade in a too-wide arc that any trained soldier would easily deflect. Briac did so, sweeping his sword to the side – only to be caught in the chest with a powerful kick that send him flying backwards into his men.

Arthur grabbed the doors and slammed them closed. Without being asked, Merlin had found a plank to bar the door; he struggled under the weight but Arthur helped him to lift it and they slotted it into place.

“Those won’t hold long,” Arthur said. Even as he spoke, the doors shuddered. “We need to find another way out of here.”

“Arthur, I can’t-”

There were no other exits, but there was light streaming in through a broad window on the far wall. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than fighting through a hoard of men.

“Okay, Merlin, we’ve done this before. Piece of cake.” Granted, last time the window had been open and they’d had a rope.

“Arthur-”

The doors shuddered again.

“It’ll be fine.” Arthur picked up a chair and threw it at the window; it shattered with a satisfying _crash_ , sending shards of glass in every direction.

"Arthur, I really don't think-”

“Trust me.” He caught Merlin’s arm and dragged him towards the window. “Land on both feet, bend your knees, roll with it if you can.”

“Arthur-”

There was another loud _thud_ against the doors and the plank of wood splintered.

“Time’s up. Go, go, go!”

Merlin launched himself out of the window and Arthur followed close behind. They both hit the ground hard; Arthur rocked onto the balls of his feet and managed to remain upright but Merlin spilled onto the cobblestones.

“Up you get,” Arthur said, seizing the back of Merlin’s shirt and dragging him to his feet. He tried to ignore how drastically pale his face had gone; as soon as they were out of here Arthur would tend to his injuries, but right now they had to focus on escaping. “Come on!”

Merlin took a few stumbling steps but it was clear they were not going to get anywhere fast.

“Sorry about this,” Arthur grunted. Before Merlin could protest Arthur had scooped him up and tossed him over a shoulder. He set off at a run, desperately hoping that he would make it to the outer wall before the soldiers caught up.

But he had only made it 30 paces before Merlin _shrieked_ with pain.

“What? What is it?” Arthur quickly put him down, looking for a wound or an arrow shaft, but Merlin’s eyes had rolled back into his head and his hands were scrabbling frantically at something around his neck.

A collar.

Briac had _collared_ him like an _animal!_

Arthur bent over him, trying to find a clasp or a release of some sort, but it appeared to be a seamless band of metal. He reached out, hoping his fingers could feel something his eyes couldn’t see, but he had to whip his hand away; the collar was as hot as a branding iron. And it was around Merlin’s _neck._

Arthur stared in horror at the mess of wounds and blisters and scars that Merlin’s neck had become. Months of injuries were layered over one another; the signs of repeated, prolonged abuse. Fresh red welts were rising even as he watched, accompanied by the awful smell of burning flesh.

Arthur didn’t know what was happening or how it was possible but he knew that he had to get that collar off him. He had to get it off _right now_. He tried to touch it again but cursed as the heat stung his hand.

“You cannot remove it.”

Arthur spun. Briac was striding towards him, five men at his back and others making the same jump from the window that they had.

“What have you done to him?”

“The boy is mine. If he does not remain within 30 paces of me, the collar incapacitates him. And if you drag him out of here, it will kill him.”

As Briac came closer, Merlin’s screams cut off and the collar cooled, lending credence to his claims. Arthur reached for the collar again, but try as he may, he couldn’t find a way to unclasp it.

He tapped Merlin’s cheek. “Merlin. Merlin, you with me? Wake up.”

Merlin groaned, eyelids fluttering.

Arthur glanced back; they didn’t have long before the enemy would be upon them. “Merlin, how do I get this thing off you?” he hissed.

Bleary blue eyes blinked up at him.

“Come on, Merlin, focus. How is he controlling it?”

It seemed to take a severe mental effort but finally Merlin grunted, “Bracelet.”

Arthur’s gaze flashed to Briac and, sure enough, there was a glint of metal around his left wrist.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He launched into battle, sword flashing in the sunlight. The clash of steel rang loudly across the courtyard. Arthur dispatched three soldiers in quick succession, then spun and crashed swords with Briac himself. They exchanged a furious flurry of blows and Briac swiftly proved himself to be a skilled swordsman. Decades of battle experience lent deadly skill to his brute strength and age hadn’t slowed him.

Having trained daily since his third summer, and with speed and agility on his side, Arthur might have been Briac’s equal, but he was painfully aware that he was about to be surrounded. If he made a break for it, there was a chance he could outrun them, but he couldn’t go without Merlin. And he couldn’t take Merlin with him. Not with that accursed collar around his neck.

Merlin’s injuries flashed before his mind’s eye. Arthur felt a burst of fury that anyone could be that cruel, and his anger gave him strength. He roared and delivered his most powerful blow yet, knocking Briac’s sword from his hand. With his next swing, he severed Briac’s arm at the wrist. Briac screamed in pain as blood gushed from the wound but he wasn’t the only one – behind him, Merlin was screaming too.

Thinking fast, Arthur scooped up the bloody appendage and seized the bracelet. He felt a shock run through him at the touch and Merlin’s screams ceased.

“Arthur- put it- put it on,” Merlin gasped.

Arthur did so. A strange sensation rippled up his arm. It felt dangerous. It felt like magic.

“Merlin…”

A blade arced towards him; Arthur jerked his sword up to deflect it but his hands were slippery with blood. It fell from his hand and he barely ducked out of the way in time.

“Arthur!” Merlin was struggling to get up, to come to his aid when he was clearly in no fit state to fight.

Arthur hurriedly wiped his hands on his tunic and scooped up his weapon. He had to protect Merlin.

He felled two more men but he was rapidly tiring; he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.

“Arthur.”

He glanced back at his servant; he was tottering unsteadily and looked about ready to pass out. But he was standing, that was something at least. “Merlin, I can’t carry you and fend them off at the same time. You have to run. I’ll cover you.”

He parried another blow, then sliced his blade across the assailant’s throat. “Go, Merlin!” he yelled. He ducked under a wide swing and thrust his blade into the man’s gut, but there were more soldiers coming.

“Arthur, you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Think about the bracelet. Fix an image of it in your mind.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

Arthur looked down at the bracelet, noting the weird markings around it. “Okay…?”

“Now give me my power back.”

“What?”

“The bracelet is magic, the collar is magic, and Briac used them on me because _I have magic._ Let me use it.”

“Merlin, I don’t have any idea what you’re-”

“ _Give me my power back or we’re both dead!”_

A dozen soldiers were charging towards them, weapons raised.

Arthur didn’t have time to think about it. It made no sense and it wasn’t going to change anything but regardless, he looked at the bracelet and told it to give Merlin his power back. Humour the kid in their last moments, right?

But in that exact instant, a powerful wind blew past him. He watched in utter disbelief as the enemy soldiers went flying. They slammed into the walls of the fortress and fell limply to the ground. They didn’t move. Every single one of them had been knocked unconscious.

“We should go before they wake up,” Merlin rasped.

Arthur whirled on him. “What the _hell_ was that?”

But Merlin’s face was ashen and he only met Arthur’s gaze for half a second before his eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled, the last of his strength gone. He would have hit the ground hard if Arthur hadn’t been there to catch him.

Arthur stared down at his manservant, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

_I have magic._

Arthur must have misheard him. But then where had that wind come from? Why did Cenred consider a lowly manservant to be his ‘prized possession’? Why had Merlin been called Briac’s ‘pet sorcerer’?

It was impossible.

And yet – and yet –

The sound of jangling armour caught his attention; there were more soldiers coming.

Arthur cursed. He had come for Merlin and he was leaving with Merlin; anything else could be dealt with later.

He scooped his manservant into his arms and sprinted towards the outer wall. He remembered that he had left his horse loosely tied to a hitching post; at his shrill whistle she tossed her head to pull free and came galloping to meet them. As soon as she was within reach, Arthur tossed Merlin across her neck and swung into her saddle. He wheeled her around and they fled through the gates. By all rights, the gates shouldn’t have been open, but they seemed to be oddly damaged, as though from an explosive force, much like the wind that felled the soldiers – but it couldn’t have been Merlin, because – because…

Arthur focused on keeping hold of Merlin. He dared not think about anything else.

ooOOoo


	4. Chapter Four

He could hear birdsong. He could smell sweet, damp earth. He could feel a gentle breeze on his face.

Merlin was used to the sound of booted feet and loud yelling, the smell of sweat and blood and fear oozing from his own pores, the feeling of being dragged from the stone floor and thrown across the room.

This was the most peaceful awakening he’d had in over a year. He savoured it, drawing in a slow breath and curling into the comfort of the soft leaves beneath him. He could feel some sort of blanket covering him and pulled it tighter.

His fingers recognised the weave. He had laundered fabric like this thousands of times. Arthur’s cloak was always getting muddied and bloodied and torn on their adventures. But once it was clean and mended and dry, it was remarkably soft and warm.

His eyes flickered open, curious, and he saw that the blanket was the same bright red as the cloaks of the Knights of Camelot.

Had he been – was it possible that he had been _rescued?_ Was he free?

His hands flew to his neck and were met with the feel of cold metal.

He swallowed. The collar was still there but it wasn’t burning him, which meant Briac couldn’t be far away. They must be on an assignment from Cenred. Briac was going to force him to use his magic to hurt someone. He didn’t want to, he never would if the only consequence was to himself, but the last time they had killed a little girl to force his compliance. She was the daughter of one of the slaves in Briac’s household, and when Merlin had refused to wield magic against Cenred’s foes, Briac had snapped the child’s neck.

Merlin’s magic was bound and he was physically chained; he couldn’t reach her. He couldn’t save her. Her mother’s anguished wails had haunted his nightmares ever since.

Merlin had learned to do what he was told. He was still mouthy, still defiant, but Briac knew his weakness. Most of the time he was content with physical reprimands, in fact he seemed to take a sadistic enjoyment in them, but if Merlin’s magic was called for, so too were the rest of the slaves. They would stare at Merlin with wide, fearful eyes, and his resolve would crumble.

He had to hope he would never be pitted against Camelot. He knew he could never betray Arthur, no matter the cost, but there would be blood on his hands regardless. Blood that would never wash off.

The cloak that covered him suddenly felt like a bad omen. Maybe Briac was hunting a Camelot patrol. Or maybe they already had, maybe Merlin had used his magic to kill them, maybe this cloak was his ‘reward’ for a job well done. He couldn’t remember anything. He tried desperately to pull up recent memories but they were all a haze of pain and noise.

Nausea surged through him. He bolted upright and flung the cloak away from himself as hard as he could, already scrambling to think of a way to make Briac angry enough to kill him. If he had betrayed Camelot, he had betrayed Arthur, betrayed his destiny and he’d rather die-

Merlin stopped short.

Arthur sat three paces away from him, sword laid across his lap, bracelet glinting on his wrist, face unreadable.

The memories slammed into him.

Arthur had found him. There hadn’t been time to explain that the collar would stop him before he got very far. They had jumped out of a window. There had been too many soldiers. And pain, a lot of pain. But then Arthur had stolen the bracelet from Briac. He had let Merlin use his magic to save them.

Merlin had used magic. He had told Arthur he had magic and then used it right in front of him. The enemy soldiers hadn’t stood a chance against the full force of his power unleased against them.

But then Arthur had whirled on him with that _expression_ on his face. Shock and horror and _rage._

Merlin couldn’t remember anything else. He was pretty sure he had fallen unconscious. Arthur could have left him there, but by the looks of things he had escaped _with_ Merlin.

Merlin wished he knew what that meant.

“Arthur,” he croaked.

“Merlin.” His tone was even, measured, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

“I – I can explain.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Can you?”

Merlin opened his mouth, but even though he felt like he had been preparing for this moment ever since he had set foot in Camelot, he suddenly found that he had nothing to say.

Arthur spoke for him. “You have magic.”

Merlin’s heart was hammering. He was so used to lying, coming up with excuses, flat-out denying the truth if he had to, but there was no getting out of it this time. “Yes. I do.”

“You know how to use it.”

That much had to have been obvious by the blast of magic Arthur had witnessed; Merlin hadn’t used a verbal enchantment and his spell had been perfectly targeted to the enemy. In the same instant, he had released a concussive force that knocked out the guards on the wall and the gate they had been trying to close. A novice could not have done what he did. “Yes, sire.”

“You’ve used it before.”

He nodded.

“In Camelot?”

Merlin hesitated. The use of magic in Camelot was punishable by death. Technically, they hadn’t been in Camelot when he used his magic against Briac’s men. And Ealdor was beyond Camelot’s borders. If he lied, maybe-

“Your silence is as good as an admission.”

“Arthur-”

“Do _not_ try to deceive me, Merlin.” His voice was low. Dangerous.

“Only – only when I had to. When lives were at stake. _Your_ life-”

“The use of magic is forbidden.”

“I – I know.”

“You think the laws of Camelot don’t apply to you?”

“Of course not. But if I hadn’t – Arthur I’ve only ever – I’ve used it to help you. To save you. To save Camelot!”

Arthur’s gaze seemed to pierce through to his very soul. He didn’t say anything and somehow that was worse than yelling would have been.

Merlin tried desperately to explain. “Arthur, you would be _dead_ a thousand times over if not for me. Camelot would have been razed to the ground. I have protected you from swords and spears and arrows and poison and foul magicks. I have protected the kingdom from griffins, goblins, trolls, dragons, undead warriors and evil sorcerers. I have faced and defeated threats that no mortal blade could have felled. And I did it, all of it, for you.”

“It sounds as though you have considerable power.”

“I – yes. I was born with it.”

“I see.” Arthur was far too calm; it was freaking Merlin out. “And how is it that Cenred knew about this and I did not?”

“Jarl. I used magic to help you escape from him, and he saw. I had to make sure you got clear so I wasn’t paying attention – he caught me from behind, knocked me out. As a slave trader he had dealt with druids… he had these special restraints.” Merlin’s hand snaked up to his neck, ghosting across the metal before dropping down into his lap again. “It wasn’t long before Cenred’s men turned up looking for you, and when they got mad that you were gone, Jarl offered me as compensation. Cenred wasn’t impressed until he found out what I could do… what I am. A warlock.”

This gained no reaction so Merlin just kept talking. “I think he hoped to use me against Morgause if he had to, but he sent me to his Commander so she wouldn’t hear of it. And for – for training.” Unconsciously, Merlin brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, shuddering at the memories of those ‘training’ sessions.

“So the collar didn’t just prevent you from escaping. It controlled your power as well?”

Shaken from his reverie, Merlin nodded. “I could only use my magic if Briac permitted me to, and never against him. I made the mistake of killing three of his men the first time he released my magic… he made sure I regretted it.”

“By letting the collar burn you.”

“Not just – not just that. I barely feel the heat, but the collar can… it can inflict a lot of pain. It uses my own magic against me.” In punishment for killing those soldiers, Briac had walked away and left him screaming for three days straight. Afterwards his throat had been so red and raw he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. It had taken two weeks for his voice to return, and he knew that the external scars would never heal.

“Is it hurting you now?”

“No. You’re wearing the bracelet, which makes you master of the collar. It bends to your will now.”

Arthur looked down at it thoughtfully. “If I took it off?”

“You would need to release me from the collar first. As a built-in safety measure, the bracelet has to be worn at all times. If it is removed, the spell activates. Presumably so the slave doesn’t chop their master’s arm off while they sleep and run off with it.”

Arthur fell into another thoughtful silence.

“You should be able to will the collar to release me...” Merlin prompted. He was eager to be rid of it. It was a symbol of everything he had been through, all the pain and indignities he had suffered, a reminder of his enslavement. Even being here with Arthur, miles away from the fortress, the collar around his neck made it difficult to believe he was truly free.

Arthur sighed. “I am afraid I cannot do that, Merlin.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult; the bracelet responds to the slightest whim-”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Arthur’s tone was unusually grave. Merlin hugged his knees a little tighter, not at all sure that he wanted to know what Arthur _did_ mean.

“Do you want to return to Camelot?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded uncertainly, wondering if he was about to be banished. It wasn’t as though he had nowhere else to go, but he couldn’t fulfil his destiny if he was tilling fields in Ealdor. He wanted to stay with Arthur.

“I thought you would. But magic is forbidden. If anyone ever found out what you could do, what you _have_ done, you would be burned at the stake.”

“I’m careful.”

“No, _Mer_ lin, you’re an idiot. You have flaunted the laws of Camelot right under the nose of her King. My father has absolutely no tolerance for magic of any kind. Even if what you have told me is true, my father would rather see Camelot destroyed than have magic return to the kingdom. You must know this.”

“I know.” Merlin wanted to say that he was hoping that Arthur would change the laws when he became king, but he wasn’t sure how Arthur was feeling about magic right now.

“Do you regret what you did?”

Merlin wondered if he should try for remorse, but Arthur had demanded the truth and Merlin was done lying. “No, sire. And I’d do it again.”

Arthur sighed. “That’s why I cannot release you from the collar. If I take you back to Camelot, you will continue to use magic. The laws have not deterred you and you seem to have no qualms about disobeying direct orders from me. By all rights, I should execute you or have you banished from the kingdom, but I understand that in your own, misguided way, you think you have been doing the right thing. I don’t want to see you harmed, and I don’t want to force you from your home. But if you want to come back with me, the collar stays on.”

“ _What?”_

“It controls your magic. With it on, you’re the same as everyone else. You can’t be tempted to use your magic if it is locked away. You won’t do anything stupid, and I won’t have to report you to my father. It’s the safest way.”

"Arthur, please-"

“The choice is yours, Merlin. Banishment or the collar.”

Merlin stared at him. He meant it. He really meant it. He intended to keep Merlin collared, as though he were some kind of dangerous beast that had to be restrained.

“Don’t you trust me, Arthur?”

“You have been lying to me since the day we met,” Arthur said flatly.

It felt like a slap to the face. Arthur _didn’t_ trust him, not anymore. The friendship they shared was the reason Arthur had come after him, and it was the reason he hadn’t executed Merlin on the spot. But friendship was supposed to be built on trust and Merlin’s deception had ripped that foundation right out from under them. It had changed everything.

Merlin didn’t know what he was going to do without his magic. He only knew that it was his destiny and his duty to remain at Arthur’s side. If that meant wearing a collar, then so be it.

“The collar stays, then,” Merlin agreed stiffly. “We should get moving while we have the light.”

ooOOoo


	5. Chapter Five

The day’s ride had been awkward and uncomfortable, not the least because they only had one horse between them.

Hroegen was the strongest war horse in Camelot and Merlin had lost a dramatic amount of weight that he hadn’t had spare to begin with, so despite riding double they managed to make good time, crossing six leagues and passing the borders into Camelot before nightfall. But Merlin barely said two words all day. Normally he would have been complaining about spending so long in a saddle, or about being hungry, or cold, or he would have been prattling on about any number of inane topics, but he didn’t voice a single complaint and he didn’t make any attempt to strike up a conversation.

Arthur had spent most of the past year riding out alone and during those long journeys, the absence of his manservant had been keenly felt. But even though Merlin was here now, the lonely silence persisted, almost as though he had not truly rescued Merlin after all.

Arthur knew that Merlin had been through a terrible ordeal. Maybe he just needed time to recover.

"We'll rest here for the night," Arthur announced.

Merlin dismounted obediently and began unloading Arthur’s pack.

"There are some clothes in there for you," Arthur remembered. He had been carrying them around for twelve months, hoping that he’d be able to pass them onto their rightful owner soon. They might be a bit musty, but they would be a radical improvement from the tattered slave attire Merlin currently wore. “There’s a stream you can bathe in.”

Merlin nodded and retrieved the bundle of cloth. Arthur began to set up camp while Merlin made his way to the water, but Merlin paused just shy of the riverbank.

“What is it?”

Merlin gestured to the collar. “30 paces.”

“Oh.” Arthur should have realised that the collar and matching bracelet would force them to remain in close proximity. This was going to cause a whole host of problems, but Arthur was convinced that the collar was their best option. He couldn’t bring a sorcerer into Camelot and, with the collar on, Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer.

Returning home without him had never been an option, not really. Lies and magic aside, Arthur knew who Merlin was. He was a bumbling idiot who had a knack for getting into trouble. He was an insubordinate servant who almost never accorded Arthur the respect he deserved. He was also the most loyal friend Arthur had ever had. He had been there for Arthur during some of the darkest and most challenging moments of his life, offering support and advice – and protection? Arthur wasn’t sure, but one thing he did know – if Merlin had intended him harm, he would be long dead. As his manservant Merlin would have had every opportunity to kill him, but instead he had scrubbed Arthur’s floors and served his food and ridden out with him into battle…

Merlin was no traitor; Arthur was certain of it. The past year had been punishment enough for his transgressions, and the collar would ensure his safety going forward. After all, it wouldn’t do to save him from Briac only to have him sentenced to death in Camelot for performing magic.

They would simply have to find a way to make these limitations work. For now, Arthur approached the river bank and settled down with his back against a tree trunk to watch over Merlin as he bathed.

Merlin said nothing as he efficiently stripped out of his soiled clothes and waded into the water. The cold didn’t seem to bother him; if anything, he seemed to luxuriate in the feel of the frigid water against his skin. Arthur wondered how long it had been since he had been allowed to bathe properly. The filth was caked onto him; Merlin had to scrub hard and repeatedly to get it off, and even then, his skin didn’t return to its normal pale complexion. Arthur realised that the stubborn patches of discolouration were bruises – deep, dark, mottled bruises, covering almost every inch of his torso. Arthur had suffered enough injuries to know broken ribs when he saw them; he couldn’t believe Merlin hadn’t let on. The ride across Essetir must have been agony.

Merlin winced a few times as he tried to wash his back, twisting and contorting his body awkwardly until he gave up, panting.

"Here," Arthur beckoned. He tore a strip from the bottom of his cloak and dipped it in the water. “Let me.”

Merlin stared at him.

“You’ve done it for me.” Whenever Arthur was injured, Merlin would keep a constant vigil by his side, meeting his every need. He would help him bathe, re-dress his wounds and even feed him if a splinted arm meant he couldn’t easily do it himself. Merlin was always deft and gentle, and all the while he would keep up a steady stream of chatter to keep Arthur’s mind off how helpless he felt. This once, Arthur wanted to repay the favour. “Come on, now, before you freeze.”

Reluctantly, Merlin came to the water’s edge. He turned his back but his shoulders were raised, as though he thought it far more likely that Arthur would beat him instead of helping him. When had Merlin last felt the touch of another that was not intended to bring him harm?

Arthur made sure he was exceedingly gentle as he began to wash the dirt and dried blood from his servant’s back.

“I’m not angry,” he said.

Merlin stiffened.

“I was,” Arthur admitted. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. But if you hadn’t, it would have been your head.” He realised that Merlin must have lived every day in fear for his life, knowing that if he were ever found out he would be sentenced to the pyre or the chopping block. There would be no trial, no mercy. “Honestly, Merlin, why did you even come to Camelot? You would have been better off if you had stayed in Ealdor.”

“Yes, Cenred’s kingdom is _far_ safer for someone like me,” Merlin said dryly, his words belied by the very wounds Arthur was cleaning.

Arthur swallowed, confronted by the mental image of soldiers marching on Ealdor and dragging a young, fresh-faced and innocent Merlin from the arms of his mother. The years he had spent in Camelot as Arthur’s servant could have been spent as Cenred’s slave instead, and no one would have been looking for him.

“Well, you’re safe now. You’re not a sorcerer anymore, so you have nothing to worry about.”

He had hoped to sound reassuring and even added a gentle shoulder squeeze for good measure, but Merlin pulled away from him. “I can do the rest myself.” He pushed back into the current and submerged himself until only his nose was visible above the water.

Merlin stayed under for a long time. The sun was setting and the temperature dropped with it. Arthur busied himself with starting a fire when it became apparent that Merlin wasn’t coming out any time soon. When Merlin finally waded back to shore, his skin had a bluish tinge and he was shivering, but he shrugged off the offer of Arthur’s cloak, choosing to retrieve a spare saddle blanket instead. He dried himself methodically but only attempted to towel his hair for a few moments before the pain winded him.

“Do you want me to-”

“It’s fine,” Merlin said shortly. His long hair dripped liberally but he paid it no heed as he pulled on his clothes.

He still didn’t look much like himself. He was too thin, too haggard. His eyes had deep black circles under them and the sparkle in them was gone. Had Briac done that? Arthur had always thought that Merlin’s spirit was irrepressible, but maybe the year of captivity had inflicted more damage than he realised.

Arthur’s gaze was drawn to the collar. With all the grime washed away it gleamed in the moonlight, and for some reason the sight of it made him uncomfortable.

“Don’t forget your neckerchief.”

Merlin gave him a _look,_ but a second later the unreadable mask was back in place and Merlin was winding his neckerchief around the collar and all the scars it had branded him with.

"You will have to keep it on when you’re out in public,” Arthur said. It wouldn’t do for anyone to recognise the marks of the Old Religion on the collar and realise what Merlin was. Merlin’s safety depended on continued secrecy.

“Yes, sire.” Merlin bent over the fire, coaxing some more heat from the flames before setting a pot over it to boil. Using Arthur’s travel rations he began putting together a basic supper for them both. The sight was familiar, and the return of some semblance of normality helped put Arthur more at ease, until a thought occurred to him.

“Does Gaius know about you?”

Merlin’s gaze flashed up. “No,” he said, too quickly.

Arthur withheld a sigh. “Of course he does. Have you any idea the kind of risk you were taking, involving him in all of this? Harbouring a sorcerer is punishable by death.”

“I didn’t tell him. I saved his life, and unfortunately he didn’t buy the story that the bed had moved to catch his fall on its own.”

Arthur snorted with amusement despite himself. Merlin really was a terrible liar; it was a miracle he had been able to keep his secret for so long.

“But Gaius didn’t turn me in. He didn’t blame me for being born with magic. He told me that it was a gift and taught me to use it for good.”

Arthur shook his head. “The Court Physician and the Prince’s manservant, conspiring to use sorcery and enchantments in the very heart of Camelot. Are you both insane? Magic is _banned._ It doesn’t matter what you use it for.”

“Well, it should.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“Magic isn’t evil, Arthur.”

“Magic corrupts. It is a violent, destructive force that leaves death and devastation in its wake. My father had good reasons for eradicating magic from the realm; sorcerers were running rampant, believing themselves to be above the law, untouchable. No one should hold that much power.”

"By the same reasoning, the King shouldn’t either.”

“The King is the law. And the law states that magic is banned. That’s all there is to it.” Arthur’s tone would brook no argument; if Merlin was going to return to Camelot, he had to accept that his magic would not be permitted. Not now, not ever.

Merlin fell silent, but he stirred the pot of stew with far more vigour than was necessary.

Arthur relented slightly. "Gaius was protecting you as a father would. He will not be punished, but any and all dalliances with magic must cease and desist. You will make sure that he understands and complies with these orders, or he will face the consequences in accordance with our laws.”

Merlin didn’t look at him or thank him for his mercy. He muttered a simple, “Yes, sire,” and focused all of his attention on the stew.

Arthur groomed, fed and watered the horse, and laid out their bedrolls close to the fire while Merlin prepared their dinner. They ate in silence, Merlin washed up and they both retired to bed.

Neither of them got much sleep.

ooOOoo

After another day and a half of travel through the countryside, they finally began their descent into the valley and Camelot came into view.

Despite the circumstances of his return, the city and its castle were a welcome sight. Merlin had spent every night for the past year dreaming of home. He missed Gaius and Gwen, his bed and the comfort of a hot meal, the luxury of a warm bath. He missed the smell of Gaius’ herbs and potions, the hustle and bustle of the market place, the peace and the freedom.

Though he supposed it was not freedom that he was returning to.

When they were half a mile from the gates, Arthur brought their horse to a halt. “I’m sorry, Merlin, you’ll need to walk from here. I’m in enough trouble with my father at the moment as it is; I can’t be seen riding double with a servant.”

Merlin dismounted, repressing a gasp as the landing jolted his ribs. His legs nearly buckled but he steadied himself with a hand on Hroegen’s flank and sucked in a few deep breaths. He knew his strength was waning but they were almost there. Once they were home, he could rest.

Until then, he had no intention of showing any signs of weakness. He wouldn’t grant Briac the satisfaction, and Arthur – he didn’t think he could stand to have Arthur try to offer comfort again. Not while Arthur wore the same bracelet that Briac had.

Merlin kept his back straight and his chin up as he walked beside Arthur’s horse.

“The prince has returned!” declared the guard at the gate. A runner was sent to inform the king and the court, but news of a different kind spread to the people. Whispers followed them as they walked through the streets of Camelot and even without his magic, Merlin’s hearing was sharp enough to hear them.

_“Merlin?”_

_“It’s Merlin!”_

_“We all thought he was dead.”_

_“I can’t believe Prince Arthur found him!”_

_“How long has it been? A year, hasn’t it?”_

_“Prince Arthur never gave up the search.”_

_“I cannot believe he went to such lengths for a servant.”_

_“It’s Arthur, he’d do the same for any of his subjects.”_

_“Merlin is special, though. Anyone could see how much the Prince cares for him.”_

_“He’d never admit it.”_

_“Where do you think Merlin was?”_

_“Can’t have been anywhere good. Look at the state of him!”_

_“His clothes are hanging off him – he’s practically skin and bones.”_

_“What did they do to him?”_

_“Do you think he’ll be alright?”_

_"He’s Merlin. That boy can bounce back from anything.”_

_"I'm glad he's back."_

_“Maybe things can return to normal around here.”_

_“Arthur wasn’t the same without him.”_

_"Camelot wasn't the same without him.”_

Merlin cast a sidelong glance at his prince, wondering if there was any truth in what the people were saying. In all the time he had been gone, he had worried for Arthur’s safety and morosely contemplated what perfectly trained, spineless bootlicker would take his place as Arthur’s manservant, but he had never considered the possibility that Arthur would miss him.

Arthur hadn’t exactly gone into transports of joy at the sight of him, though admittedly their reunion had been swiftly interrupted by Briac and his soldiers, and not long after that Merlin had revealed his magic. He wondered how different this homecoming could have been if he had kept his secret – but then, without his magic they would never have escaped Briac’s fortress.

There could be no return to normal, but if Arthur was determined to pretend, Merlin guessed he had to, as well.

They reached the steps of the castle and Arthur passed his horse over to one of the soldiers. Usually, Merlin would have been the one to groom and stable Hroegen, but the proximity he had to maintain with Arthur was going to make many of his duties difficult to perform. He wondered if Arthur had actually thought this through. Probably not. He was always coming up with half-baked plans and leaving Merlin to work out the details.

“I assume you will have to report to your father before I can go to see Gaius,” Merlin said.

Arthur startled. “Oh, um, right. It’ll only be a minute.”

Of course it wouldn’t; Merlin had no doubt that Uther would have plenty to say about Arthur’s actions. He resigned himself to struggling on for a while longer and tried to focus on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

He drew some succour from the familiarity of the castle’s halls. He was home, and soon he would be reunited with his guardian. At least he wasn’t alone anymore.

The guards opened the double doors to the Great Hall and Arthur strode through with his usual air of confidence while Merlin shadowed behind him and hoped that the collar was well hidden beneath his neckerchief.

Uther dismissed his councillors with a wave of his hand. “So, you have returned, Arthur.”

“Yes, Father.”

Uther’s gaze swept over Merlin. There was no warmth in his eyes, but neither was there any hostility. “I see you found the boy.”

“I did.”

“I should have guessed that he was behind your little crusade. You have always placed an illogically high value on his life.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “My cause was just. The practice of slavery is wrong, Father. People should not be bought and sold like property.”

Uther’s expression darkened. “You intend to continue your quest?”

Arthur hesitated. “Most of the slavers have been destroyed and the rest have fled beyond the borders of the five kingdoms. There is but one stronghold remaining and… I do not think it would be wise for me to return there.”

Merlin thought of all the slaves that Briac owned. He knew their faces; he had learned most of their names. He knew how they were treated; he had experienced Briac’s brutality first-hand. In what little way he could, he had tried to protect them from the worst of his wrath. But when Arthur came for him, he had been too concerned with keeping his prince safe. He had left them behind.

"Where is this stronghold?”

Arthur’s face set with an expression Merlin recognised as the one he wore when he was about to say something that would get him into trouble. “Commander Briac’s fortress. In Essetir.”

“The base of Cenred’s army?”

“Yes, sire.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed. “You made certain that you were not seen.”

“I went in under an alias, but…”

“Do _not_ tell me you were recognised.”

“I’m sorry, Father. We had to fight our way out.”

Uther slammed his fist down on the table; Merlin flinched and took a hasty step back. “ _Arthur_! Have you any idea what you have done? Cenred is a sworn enemy of Camelot. The last time he attacked this city, the citadel nearly fell! Your reckless incursion into Briac’s fortress might as well have been a declaration of war and you can be certain that Cenred will retaliate.”

“He stole something of mine. I could not let that go.”

“And how many of our knights will die because of your ridiculous attachment to your manservant?”

“Cenred would find any excuse to attack us; if not this, then something else. We have both heard the reports that he has been amassing an army, and there can be little doubt as to the reason. He has always coveted the lands and throne of Camelot.”

“That may be, but your behaviour is inexcusable. I have half a mind to take your servant from you.”

Merlin felt a jolt of fear in the same instant that Arthur cried out: “No!” He stepped protectively in front of Merlin, spreading an arm as though to shield him.

Merlin waited with bated breath for Uther’s decision. If he was removed from Arthur’s side, the spell would activate and he would be discovered as a sorcerer. The dawn would see his execution.

It was a tense few moments as the King and his son faced off against each other. Eventually Uther sighed. “If I allow him to stay, I trust you will no longer be distracted from your duties.”

Relief swept over Merlin, bringing with it a wave of exhaustion. He had to lock his knees to keep them from buckling.

Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you, sire.”

"You will take the petitions for the remainder of the day and present me with detailed documentation of each issue and its resolution before the evening meal, and tomorrow you will lead the dawn patrol before presiding over the knighting of Frederick, son of Eldin, and Denmar, son of Taldor. You will receive the envoy from Caerleon at noon and oversee arrangements for the evening feast.”

“Yes, sire.”

Uther pursed his lips, but seemed to decide the list of chores was enough for Arthur to be getting on with. “For now, you had better return the boy to the physician. He looks ready to faint.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Arthur bowed low and withdrew, gesturing for Merlin to follow. Once the doors had closed behind them, Arthur grasped Merlin’s elbow and looked into his eyes with no small degree of concern. “Merlin, I need you to stay conscious a little longer. Knocking your head on the stairs won’t improve your condition in the slightest.”

“Doing my best, sire,” Merlin slurred. The floor kept slipping and sliding every which way beneath him, making it difficult to catch with his feet.

"I've seen drunkards from the tavern walk a straighter line," Arthur muttered as he slung an arm around Merlin’s waist and hoisted Merlin’s arm over his shoulders. “We should have split the journey, rested more. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin said, even though the prince was practically lugging him up the staircase and everything around him had become an indistinct blur. The pain was fading, along with sights, sounds… he thought he caught a whiff of herbs, but then he fell into a pool of blackness and knew no more.

ooOOoo


	6. Chapter Six

Gaius was preparing a tincture to treat the new stable boy’s erythema – the rash was most likely an allergic reaction the hay and Gaius had told the boy as much, but the lad was desperate to keep his job so Gaius had promised to treat the affliction as best he could – when he heard the door to his chambers crash open.

He spun, knowing an emergency when he heard one, but froze in shock at what he saw.

Prince Arthur had burst in carrying a limp figure in his arms. A figure that, even desperately thin with a tangled mop of hair covering his face, Gaius would know in a crowd of thousands.

_“Merlin!”_

Arthur quickly laid him out on the bed. “We were on our way up here and he just collapsed. I think- I hope he just over-exerted himself, but he does have at least a couple of broken ribs and they could have ruptured something-”

Gaius forced back the concerned guardian and dragged the professional physician to the forefront. “Has he coughed up any blood?”

“No.”

“Any shortness of breath?”

“About four steps up he was breathing hard, like he’d just run a marathon. I think it was hurting him but he got the air in.”

Gaius held a hand over Merlin’s lips and felt a puff of air against his skin. “He’s breathing.” He checked Merlin’s eyes; they had rolled up slightly but there was no unnatural pupil dilation. He felt Merlin’s forehead; the skin was sweaty but did not burn with a fever. He reached to check Merlin’s pulse at his throat to see if his heart was beating too fast or too slow – but his questing fingers were met with hard, ridged skin and cold metal.

“Gaius, wait-”

But he had already pulled off the neckerchief and could only stare in horror at the mass of layered scars and blisters that had been hidden beneath it. He recognised the culprit immediately. Use of such collars had been common in the days of the Old Religion. They were designed by the High Priestesses to control prisoners whose magic ensured they could not be fettered by conventional restraints. The collar drew its power from its victim; the stronger their magic, the more devastating its effects. Merlin was the most powerful warlock to have ever lived; it was a miracle that the collar hadn’t killed him.

If Merlin’s captors had put this collar on him, they must have known what he was. That thought was terrifying enough on its own, but escape should have been impossible unless-

His gaze flashed to Arthur and sure enough, the matching bracelet encircled his wrist.

"Do you know what this is, sire?” Gaius asked cautiously.

“Yes. And I know what Merlin is.”

Gaius swallowed. He had feared the discovery of Merlin’s magic since the day the boy had arrived in Camelot. He had watched over him and had tried his best to guide him and had worried _constantly_. As the friendship between Merlin and Arthur grew, Gaius had dared to hope that someday Arthur would be ready to know the truth. But even though Arthur hadn’t executed Merlin on the spot, and had in fact brought Merlin home despite knowing that he had magic, this revelation felt premature. “He is your loyal servant, sire. He would never do anything to harm you or this kingdom.”

“If he was going to, he probably would have done so by now,” Arthur said.

Gaius breathed a silent sigh of relief. Arthur didn’t think Merlin was a traitor. Perhaps he trusted Merlin enough to-

“But any form of magic is banned in Camelot,” Arthur continued, “regardless of what it is used for. Merlin understands that his return is conditional on the permanent cessation of all magical activity, and the collar is insurance.”

Gaius was stunned. “You’re not going to remove it?”

“I can’t.”

Gaius felt sick to his stomach. The collar was the ultimate humiliation for a sorcerer, stripping him not only of his power but of his dignity and his freedom.

“Could you not send him back to his mother? Ealdor is beyond Camelot’s borders-”

“I gave him that option, but he declined. This was his choice, Gaius.”

Gaius looked down at his ward. The boy’s loyalty to his prince knew no bounds. That he would suffer this degradation for Arthur spoke volumes about the kind of person he was and Gaius couldn’t be prouder. But his heart also broke for him, because he knew that the deepest, most desperate desire of Merlin’s heart had been for Arthur to know and accept him for who he was, and instead the prince had shackled him.

“You understand the limitations of the collar, sire?”

“Merlin cannot be further than 30 paces from me at any given time. Which is why I need you to patch him up as quickly as you can. My father expects me back in the council chambers shortly.”

“Merlin need rest, sire. It is my guess that he has been operating on adrenaline and pure pig-headed stubbornness since you rescued him; his body has crashed.”

“Isn’t there some sort of pick-me-up you can give him?”

“I have a rejuvenating potion that would give him a temporary boost, but it is not sufficient to counter the effects of adrenal failure for long. His body is shutting down to conserve energy. If he continues to push beyond the limits of his endurance, I fear he will never recover.”

“We do not have another option. Where I go, Merlin goes. Bind his ribs, treat his bruises if you can, and then administer the potion.”

Gaius bit back his protests. He knew what would happen to Merlin if Arthur moved out of range, and his duties as prince meant that Arthur could not just sit idly by his bedside while he healed. “Yes, sire.”

He tried to keep a clinical detachment as he gently applied burn cream to Merlin’s neck, shifting the collar carefully so all the wounds could be treated, even as he realised that many of these scars would never heal. The collar had permanently disfigured him; even if it were some day removed, the scars would be a constant reminder of the steep price he had paid for being born with magic.

Removing Merlin’s shirt brought new horrors. His torso was mottled with dark bruises, evidence of frequent and brutal beatings, and his ribs stood out in stark relief. He had been fed the bare minimum to keep him alive, but he was drastically malnourished. “He’ll need nutritive potions as well,” Gaius said.

“Give him whatever he requires, Gaius. He needs to be back in action as soon as possible.”

“Don’t expect too much from him,” Gaius warned. Merlin’s recovery was going to take months. If he had access to his magic he would heal far more quickly, but that was clearly out of the question.

“Merlin’s tough. He’ll bounce back. He always does.”

“Things are different now, sire.” Without his power, Merlin was just like everyone else.

Arthur frowned. “Was he so reliant on his magic?”

“It is as much a part of him as the blood that runs through his veins. Even when he was not consciously using it, it would have been lending him strength, endurance, heightened senses and reflexes, faster healing. I doubt he could have kept up with the double workload of being your manservant and my assistant otherwise.”

Arthur thought on that for a moment, lips pursed and brow furrowed. “I was given a replacement manservant while Merlin was gone,” he said finally. “Perhaps they can split Merlin’s duties between them.”

Removal of the collar would have been far more beneficial, but Gaius could see that Arthur was not going to change his mind. “That will help.”

Arthur nodded. "It takes care of the proximity issues as well. Haden can run errands so Merlin won’t have to leave my side.”

“You realise that he will have to move into the servant quarters adjacent to your chambers.”

“By all rights, he should be there anyway, ready to respond promptly whenever I have need of him. I won’t have to spend half my days shouting the castle down looking for him anymore. This may actually work out better than I thought!”

“If you say so, sire.” Privately, Gaius thought that it wouldn’t be long before Arthur and Merlin were driving each other crazy. “Help me with him, will you? I need you to hold him upright so I can bind his ribs.”

In short order, Gaius had finished applying bruise salve and wrapped the bandages tight enough to secure Merlin’s ribs without restricting his breathing.

"The potion now, Gaius, if you would, or my father will be sending guards to look for me.”

Reluctantly, Gaius retrieved the required potion from his stores. Bed rest was what Merlin really needed; he could only hope that Arthur would keep Merlin’s duties as light as possible.

Arthur supported Merlin as Gaius tipped his head back and dribbled the potion into his mouth. Merlin swallowed reflexively and coughed, spluttering a little before he dragged in a deep breath. “O-ow,” he gasped, doubling over.

“Take it easy,” Gaius urged. “Shallow breaths.”

“G-Gaius? Is that you?”

Gaius took Merlin’s hand, his heart softening as he finally allowed himself to feel the joy and relief at having his ward returned to him. “It is me, my boy.”

Merlin’s eyes flickered open. They were dulled by exhaustion and ghosted with pain, but when he saw Gaius a genuine smile spread across his face. “Long time, no see.”

“You were only supposed to be gone a few days, Merlin. You’re late.”

Merlin huffed a small laugh. “Sorry.”

Gaius shook his head ruefully. “You’re always getting into trouble.”

It was a gentle ribbing, but Merlin shrunk in on himself. “I don’t mean to.” He looked so small and vulnerable; a child who had been lost and alone for far too long.

“I know.” Abandoning all pretence of scolding the boy, Gaius pulled him into a hug. “I know.”

Merlin tightened the embrace. “I missed you, Gaius,” he mumbled.

“And I you.” Gaius could feel a damp patch growing on his shoulder; Merlin was shaking with silent sobs. Gaius cupped the back of his head to draw him close, wishing he could have protected him, shielded him from the world. Merlin didn’t deserve what had been done to him. “I am so sorry, my boy. But you’re safe now. You’re home.”

Merlin nodded and drew in a steadying breath. He pulled back, smiling tremulously. “It’s good to be back.”

Arthur had tactfully turned away to allow them this moment of privacy, but now he cleared his throat. “My father is expecting me. We need to go.”

Merlin swiped at his eyes, removing any trace of emotion from his expression before he turned to face his prince. “Yes, sire.”

Gaius helped him off the bed, hovering anxiously as Merlin wobbled but managed to gain his footing. He wanted to ask if Merlin was okay, and not just physically. He wanted to ask how he was coping with this change in circumstances, with Arthur knowing the truth and his response to such, but Merlin would not be able to speak openly in front of the prince.

So all he said was, “Do not over exert yourself.” Of course, in his condition, even standing up could be considered an over-exertion.

“I won’t.” Merlin picked up his neckerchief and wound it in place, hiding the collar. His eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts, but Gaius knew that he could not be happy about the situation. Even so, he followed Arthur, as he ever had.

ooOOoo

Fresh gossip always spread through the castle like wildfire; it was a welcome distraction from the daily grind. Soldiers and servants alike were talking about Merlin’s return and it wasn’t long before Gwen heard the news.

She paused in the act of washing Morgana’s clothes, staring at Katie in disbelief. “Arthur found him? Merlin’s here? He’s home?”

Katie scrubbed at the table-cloth, trying to remove a particularly stubborn wine stain. “He’s with Arthur in the council chambers right now. I can’t believe he’s managed to go back to work straight away; I hear he’s in a right state. Thin as a rake, bruises all over him.”

“But he’s back. Arthur rescued him.”

“Must have done. Single-handedly, too. I guess he hasn’t got a reputation as the best warrior in the five kingdoms for nothing.”

“I have to see him.”

Katie looked up at her. “That’s right, Merlin was your friend, wasn’t he?”

Gwen nodded. They had been through a lot together, but she hadn’t realised how much she cared about him until he went missing. She had spent a year grieving his loss; it seemed impossible that he could be here again. She had to see him for herself.

“Go on, then. I’ll finish up here for you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. It’s not every day your friend comes back from the dead. But just this once, mind.”

“Thank you.”

Gwen rushed up the stairs and down the corridors. She slowed as she reached the council chambers, not wishing to make a scene, but she was tense with anticipation as she stepped through the doors.

She saw Arthur first. He sat before the petitioners, listening patiently as two farmers described their land dispute. His gaze flicked up to meet hers and he must have realised why she was there because he nodded, confirming that what she had heard and hoped for was true. He glanced significantly to the side, and Gwen saw him.

Merlin was in the scribe’s chair, taking notes of the proceedings. He scribbled quickly, keeping pace, but he had his elbow propped up on the table with his head resting in his hand. He looked beyond weary, but he was alive and he was _here._

“Haden, relieve Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin jolted out of his stupor, looking questioningly at his prince, but Arthur had returned to the issue at hand. “If the seed was yours, Farmer Dren, but the crops spread into your neighbour’s land, you must split the harvest evenly between you.”

Merlin relinquished his post to the other servant and stepped down, retreating to the rear of the chamber. He leaned against the wall and dropped his head back, closing his eyes. Almost against his will, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor and looked about ready to topple over.

Gwen skirted around the edges of the chamber and sat down next to her friend.

“Are you alright?”

Merlin’s head snapped up. “Gwen!”

She laughed and embraced him but when he gasped she quickly let go. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled to hide the grimace as his hand went to his chest, supporting what had to be a painful injury. “It’s good to see you, Gwen. How have you been?”

The question caught her off guard. “How have _I_ been? Merlin, you were sold as a slave and kept god-knows-where, and you’re asking about me?”

“Well, yeah. I know what my life has been for the past year, but I haven’t heard much of Camelot. The city is still standing, so that’s something anyway. Last I knew, Arthur was trying to get to the Cup of Life before Cenred did.”

“He succeeded. The Cup is safe in the vaults of Camelot.”

“And there have been no attacks on the city?”

“Camelot’s strength has only grown this past year. There have been a few small skirmishes on the border, but no one has tried to challenge us directly.”

Merlin sighed with relief. “It was worth it, then.”

Gwen looked at him more closely, seeing evidence of what must have been a long, terrible ordeal. “What happened, Merlin? When Arthur came back he refused to talk about it. He just said you were taken by Jarl.”

“We both were, but Arthur got out.”

That sounded like a very simplified version of the story. “You sacrificed yourself so he could escape, didn’t you?”

Merlin shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Merlin…” He was always doing that, throwing himself in harm’s way for Arthur’s sake. This time it had cost him dearly.

“It’s okay. I was worried about how Camelot would get on without me, but it sounds like everything’s been fine.”

“We’re alright,” Gwen assured him. “But we all missed you. Arthur especially. I’ve never seen him like that. He was just like Uther was, when Morgana went missing. He couldn’t think about anything else except finding you and bringing you home safe.”

“Morgana,” Merlin echoed, a shadow crossing over his face. “She’s still here?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t she be?”

“It’s nothing, never mind.”

"I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."

“I’m sure,” Merlin said, but he didn’t sound convinced. Gwen remembered that there had seemed to be a growing animosity between them before Merlin had gone missing, and Morgana hadn’t seemed to grieve his loss as much as the rest of them. But she had been supportive of Arthur’s efforts against the slavers; she would always ask him what his plans were, where he would be headed next. Arthur never told her, saying he didn’t want her getting involved and getting hurt.

_“I don’t want to lose anyone else,”_ Arthur had said. Gwen knew he blamed himself for what had happened. The King had told him to go on the quest for the Cup alone, but Arthur didn’t count Merlin; he was always just _there._ Arthur took it for granted that Merlin would accompany him to the ends of the earth and back _._ It had never been a problem before, since Merlin always seemed to have extraordinary luck and somehow managed to make it out of most skirmishes unscathed, but the reality was that he was just a servant. He didn’t have any combat skills; he couldn’t defend himself in the event of an attack. Arthur had been his protection, and this time he hadn’t been able to keep Merlin safe. He couldn’t forgive himself for that.

But Merlin was home now. Maybe Arthur could stop beating himself up for what had happened and start looking forward again. Although, knowing Arthur, the guilt would continue for as long as Merlin bore the scars of what he had been through. He would only be able to move past it when Merlin was better.

“You’re tired, Merlin. Why don’t you go and get some rest?”

Merlin blinked his eyes open, fighting back the sleep that he clearly needed. “I’m fine. I’d like to hear more about what’s been happening here, if you can spare a few minutes.”

“Of course. What do you want to know?”

He smiled faintly, resting his head back against the wall. “Everything. The latest kitchen pranks, the court gossip, the mischief that the children in the lower town have been getting into, who all the new knights are, which lords and ladies have been visiting these halls, the results of the annual tournaments, what Arthur’s new manservant is like…”

Merlin had tried to sound off-handed as he threw that last one in, but Gwen knew him too well.

“Arthur doesn’t like him much. Haden is good at his job, but he has taken to doing things when Arthur isn’t around so he doesn’t get his head bitten off.”

“Arthur has reverted to being a prat again, has he?”

“I think the problem was that he didn’t _want_ a new manservant. He kept telling his father so, but then his rooms would be in complete disarray and he was late to everything, his clothes were dirty and his boots weren’t polished… The other servants of the household were scrambling around trying to do things for him on top of their other duties and Uther got fed up with it all. He assigned Haden after a few weeks and overruled Arthur when he tried to protest.”

“I suppose he’s settled in now. Competent, efficient, obedient… Arthur probably doesn’t need me.”

“But he wants you. I would think that’s pretty obvious after he spent a year searching the five kingdoms for you.”

“He always says I’m the worst servant he’s ever had.”

“Maybe it’s not a servant that he wants. Maybe he just wants a friend.”

A slight frown creased his brow. "He's my master, and a prince. We can’t be friends."

“Not officially. But you’re the closest he’s got. He was lost without you, Merlin. When you were gone it was like there was a part of him missing. Almost as though you and Arthur are two sides of the same coin.”

Merlin sighed. “People keep saying that.”

“Must be true, then.”

“Hm.” Merlin stared up at the ceiling, as though searching the shadows for the answer to some deep question. “Tell me a story? Make me feel like I was here with you all. I want to forget that I was gone, just for a little while.”

“Sure,” Gwen said softly. She tried to think of an entertaining tale to tell. “Uh, let’s see. Well, a few weeks ago, Lord Gelvin’s youngest received his knighthood. At the celebration afterwards, his five older brothers challenged him to a drinking contest. He’s barely 18 and the lot of them are about double his size, so everyone expected that they would drink Dane under the table. But he was sitting there, throwing back drinks like water, steady as a rock while his brothers were dropping like stones. When the last of them toppled out of his chair, Dane broke out in the biggest grin and promptly jumped up on the table to belt out a rousing chorus of “Pastime with Good Company”. The whole room joined in, laughing uproariously at the ridiculous jig he was dancing, and the moment the song was done he passed out.”

Merlin barked a laugh, then winced and clutched at his ribs.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you laugh.”

Merlin chuckled, wincing and smiling both. “Oh – no – totally worth it. I haven’t laughed in… a long time.” The mirth in his eyes faded.

“They hurt you a lot, didn’t they?” Gwen whispered.

“Only when I talked back or refused to do what they wanted.” This time his chuckle held no humour. “Arthur always said I had a big mouth.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. Merlin was the kindest, gentlest soul she knew. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

He tried to smile at her. “That’s all behind me now though. I’ll be fine.”

She hoped so.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

ooOOoo


	7. Chapter Seven

“Merlin.”

He woke to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder and opened his eyes to find Arthur crouched in front of him. After a few moments of confusion, he realised he was still in the council chambers. He must have fallen asleep after Gwen had reluctantly told him she had to return to her duties and left him alone with nothing to distract him from his overwhelming fatigue. He had ended up sprawled out on the cold stone floor; a familiar bed, but one he’d hoped to avoid once he was back in Camelot.

“Petitions are finished for the day,” Arthur said. “I still have to write up the reports for my father, but we’ll get you settled in your new quarters first.”

“New quarters?”

“You’ll have to stay in the room next to mine from now on. We’ll collect your things from Gaius and you can put them away in your cupboard – _properly,_ mind, I won’t tolerate your slovenly ways like he did. Then you should be able to get a few hours of sleep before I dine with the King.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t consciously realised that the collar not only restricted his movements during the day, but meant he couldn’t live with his guardian anymore either.

“Everyone will think I just want to keep a closer eye on you. I don’t think anyone will ask any questions.”

That wasn’t what Merlin was worried about. Gaius was his safe place to vent after a hard day, his sounding board when he faced a hard decision, his wisdom when he was about to do something foolish, his conscience when he wasn’t thinking clearly, his comfort when everything went to hell around him, his strength when he didn’t know if he could carry on, his friend when the loneliness of his double life was crushing him.

He didn't know what he was going to do without Gaius to come home to every night.

But all he could say was, “Yes, sire.”

Gaius had anticipated the need; all of Merlin’s things were already packed when they arrived. The empty room was a depressing reminder that life as he had known it was over.

“I’ve made you a large bottle of nutritive potion,” Gaius said. “You’ll need to take two tablespoons with every meal. And I’ve put some of that rejuvenating potion in this wineskin. You may take a sip whenever you feel in dire need, but _only_ a sip, and try to use it sparingly or you could become reliant on it.”

Merlin added the potions to one of the two boxes that held all of his possessions (with the exception of his book of magic and the Sidhe’s staff that were useless to him now anyway). “Thanks, Gaius.” He tried not to think of this as a goodbye, but this place had become his home away from home, and Gaius had become like a father to him. He didn’t want to leave.

Gaius hugged him gently. “Don’t worry, my boy. I’ll come to visit you so often you’ll likely be sick of me before long.”

Merlin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Arthur coughed and Merlin took that as his cue. He bent to retrieve one of the boxes, ignoring the sharp pang of protest from his ribs, but when he straightened up again his vision blacked out. He staggered but felt strong arms catch him.

“Idiot,” Arthur muttered, setting Merlin on his feet again and firmly removing the box from his grasp. “I’ll get these; you focus on trying not to fall flat on your face.”

Merlin’s cheeks heated. “I can carry them. I’m not useless.”

Usually Arthur would have argued the opposite, but instead he looked at Merlin and said seriously, “No, you’re not. But you are injured.”

A prince shouldn’t be carrying things for his servant. It was bad enough that he had lost his magic; if he couldn’t even carry a box what use was he to Arthur, or to anyone? But Merlin swallowed his pride and didn’t protest as Gaius set the second box in Arthur’s arms as well.

He followed Arthur down to his chambers, trying to stop his ears from burning in humiliation as the guards they passed gave them odd looks and other servants in the corridors did double-takes at the strange role-reversal between them. It was a relief when they finally reached Arthur’s chambers and closed the doors behind them.

The room was much the same as he had left it. Usually if Merlin was away for a few days he would return to find it in a state of utter chaos, but Haden was apparently as good as Gwen said he was. Everything was so clean it practically sparkled.

“You room is through here,” Arthur said. “It hasn’t been used in years, but I had Haden clear it out for you and replace the mattress.”

Merlin cracked the door open. The room was bigger than the one he’d had with Gaius, and it had a window that overlooked the courtyard. The bed had actual covers on it, not a simple blanket like he was used to. There was a large cupboard, a chest of drawers, a wash bucket, and a wooden desk in the corner. A second door led out into the hallway, although he doubted that he would be using it much, given that he had to stay in close proximity with the prince.

The room was as close to luxury as a servant could ever get, but it felt like a fancy prison cell.

Arthur set the boxes down on the desk. “I’ll leave you to unpack.”

The worst part of it all was that Arthur was actually trying to be nice to him. He was being considerate, gentle, helpful, patient. He didn’t have to; he could have cast Merlin out or called for his execution. This was him being lenient, generous even, and that only made it harder. Briac he had been free to hate, but Arthur… he loved that stupid prat of a prince. And this hurt, more than his broken ribs, more than the pain of the collar. But Arthur couldn’t see that.

“Thank you,” Merlin said stiltedly.

Arthur offered a slight nod. “Get some rest.”

Merlin was left alone, but he knew that Arthur wasn’t far away.

Slowly he began to take his things out of the boxes. He hung the clothes in his closet, set his books on his desk and placed his shoes under his bed. He lingered over the carved statue of a dragon that his father had given him, feeling the familiar ache of grief. He wanted to keep it on his nightstand, but a dragon was a symbol of magic and the times before the Great Purge. Arthur wouldn’t approve. Besides, he wasn’t a dragon lord anymore. His father’s legacy was locked away inside him and might never be released. Balinor had fled rather than submit to Uther; what would he think of his son for allowing himself to be shackled like this?

_“I’ve seen enough in you to know that you will make me proud.”_

Merlin felt tears well up in his eyes. If his father could see him now, he would be ashamed, not proud. _I’m sorry, Father._

Merlin wrapped the dragon statue in one of his scarves and nestled it carefully in his bottom drawer.

In the second box, he found a stack of old letters. Most of them were from his mother, but there were also a few from Lancelot and Gwaine as well. His mother must have been worried sick about him, not knowing where he was or what had happened to him, or even if he was still alive. Merlin didn’t know if anyone would have sent word to Lancelot about him, but he had no doubt that Gwaine would have been searching as far and wide as Arthur had. He resolved to write to them all when he had the chance; for now, he was just too tired.

He collapsed wearily onto the bed, barely even noticing how much softer it was than his old mattress, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

ooOOoo

Arthur stood in the doorway of his servant’s room, watching Merlin sleep. He hadn’t meant to pause there so long; he was supposed to dine with his father soon and that meant Merlin had to get up, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the rest that Merlin so clearly needed.

Merlin lay sprawled on top of the covers, snoring softly. He was still wearing his jacket and his boots but his shirt had ridden up, revealing his concave stomach and the fringe of the bandages that were wrapped around his chest. His face was turned into his pillow, hidden by a tangle of long hair. His hands were curled around a fistful of sheets that he had pulled close, reminiscent of a child cuddling a teddy bear for the warmth and reassuring weight of having someone beside them.

Arthur felt the sudden, irrational urge to take the place of those bunched sheets and provide the comfort of a solid presence at Merlin’s side, tangible and real, protecting him, keeping him safe. He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t, it would hardly be proper _or_ well-received, but how many nights had Merlin spent on the cold stone floor in Briac’s fortress, alone and shivering, vulnerable, defenceless? Arthur wanted Merlin to know – and not just know but _feel_ – that he was safe here. He wanted Merlin to understand that Arthur was never going to let anything like that happen to him ever again. He wanted Merlin to trust him.

It had been a rude shock, the revelation that Merlin had magic – and not just because he had lied, or because magic was evil and dangerous and certainly not something an innocent like Merlin should be dabbling in – but because Merlin had never trusted him enough to tell him. Arthur had confided in Merlin more times than he could count, and he had always relied on Merlin to have his back, but he had never realised that it didn’t work both ways. Merlin had lied because he thought his secret wouldn’t be safe with Arthur – he thought Arthur would turn him in or have him killed.

Arthur was trying to prove that Merlin had been wrong about him. He was going to extreme lengths to make sure that the magic he had been cursed with wouldn’t corrupt him or lead to his death. He wanted Merlin to see that Arthur was looking out for him. Maybe if they could learn to trust each other, they could begin to rebuild their friendship.

Arthur had missed them; their friendly banter, their easy comradery, their crazy adventures, even their rows. He’d never had a real friend until Merlin, almost as though he had spent his entire childhood and adolescence just waiting for Merlin to turn up. Merlin’s arrival had changed everything, Arthur especially, but he hadn’t realised how much until the day he lost him. All he had been able to think about was getting Merlin back. The hunt had consumed him; it had almost driven him crazy, but he couldn’t bear to give up, couldn’t bear the thought of moving on and trying to live life without his cheerfully irreverent servant by his side.

He needed Merlin. And Merlin had come back with him, which made Arthur think that maybe Merlin needed him too. He hoped so. He hoped that this rift between them could be bridged somehow. He hoped that they would be okay. But he didn’t know if they would be, and that scared him.

Merlin made a small sound and shifted slightly, jolting Arthur out of his reverie. He had stood there staring for far too long. They were going to be late for dinner and Uther’s patience was already stretched thin.

“Merlin.”

Merlin groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow.

They didn’t have time for this. Usually Arthur would throw something at him but he didn’t want to risk hurting him. “ _Mer_ lin!”

Merlin made another grumpy protest but reluctantly turned over and blinked open tired eyes. “What is it, your royal pratness?” he grumbled. “And why couldn’t it wait ‘til morning?”

A smile twitched at Arthur’s lips; this was the Merlin he remembered. “I have to dine with my father, remember?”

“Pour your own wine for once, I’m sure you’ll cope.”

“The dining hall is a lot further than 30 paces from here, Merlin. You have to come with me.”

Merlin’s hand lifted to his neck. Darkness crept over his eyes and his voice fell flat as he said, “Yes, sire.” Mechanically, he sat up and swung his legs off the bed.

“You had better do something about your hair. It is in dire need of a proper cut, but a comb through will have to do for now.”

Merlin swept his fingers through his mop of thick black hair, dragging it out of his eyes and into some semblance of order. It was still a disaster though; Arthur made a mental note to ask Gwen to trim it for him.

“Come on, then. We can’t keep the King waiting.”

Merlin followed him obediently, which was what he was supposed to do, but for some reason it rankled Arthur. He didn’t want Merlin to follow him because he had to, he wanted Merlin to walk _with_ him and _say_ something and be the same as before. But Merlin was silent, a shadow, playing the part of a servant that was seen but not heard. He might as well have been Haden.

Arthur silently vowed to find a way to get the old Merlin to make a proper comeback, but for now he had to work on appeasing his father.

“You have finished the reports?” Uther asked as soon as Arthur entered the dining hall.

“Yes, Father.” Arthur handed over the stack of parchment.

Uther flipped through them, his expression giving nothing away. “Adequate,” he declared finally. “It seems you _are_ capable of showing sound judgement, in some things at least.” He didn’t look at Merlin but Arthur knew what he meant.

Arthur could have said ‘good servants are hard to come by’ or ‘the value of a loyal servant should never be underestimated’, but he knew his father would not be convinced. There was no point trying to put the truth into words; Arthur barely understood it himself and he knew that Uther could never accept it.

Merlin moved silently, pulling out Arthur’s chair for him and serving food from the platters onto his plate. Arthur picked up the jug before Merlin could and poured his own wine, glancing up into Merlin’s eyes to see a flicker of surprise that he quickly covered.

Arthur allowed Merlin to take the jug from him so he could top up Uther’s goblet. He tracked his servant’s movements, looking for hints of pain or fatigue but whatever Merlin was feeling, he kept it well hidden. He was far better at deception than Arthur had ever imagined he could be. Everything Arthur knew of him – it was only what Merlin had allowed him to see. How much more was concealed beneath the surface?

“ _Arthur_.”

Uther was frowning at him and Arthur’s brain scrambled to pick up on what his father had been talking about. Something about Caerleon.

“Who are we expecting in the delegation?” Arthur asked. He knew that negotiations had been ongoing between their two kingdoms, but he hadn’t been paying very close attention to the proceedings.

“Prince Caerleon and his wife, Princess Annis. The King does not leave his castle anymore, but he has sent his son with his seal to sign the treaty.”

Arthur nodded. The King of Caerleon was getting on in years; his son had led their army for the better part of three decades and oversaw most matters of state. The King still held the final authority and, from what Arthur had heard of Prince Caerleon, it was good that he did. The King had set down his conquering sword years ago and valued peace, but his son had been marching on the warlord territories beyond the borders of the five kingdoms and absorbing their lands. Arthur rather suspected that, if left to his own devices, Prince Caerleon would make a bid for the throne of Albion.

“Will the treaty hold beyond the King’s reign?” Arthur asked.

“If we can establish good relations with Prince Caerleon during his stay, it should.”

"Arthur will just have to work his legendary charm," Morgana said, striding into the room.

“Morgana.” Uther greeted her with a smile; he was always far more open in his affection for her than he was with Arthur. Arthur supposed all she had to do was show up and look pretty; she didn’t have the same weight of expectations on her that Arthur did.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Merlin moved automatically to pull out her seat for her, but servants had never been as invisible to her as they were to Uther – “Merlin!” she exclaimed.

Merlin stiffened and took a half step back. Arthur couldn’t imagine why, unless he was still jittery after the way he had been treated by Briac. Other slaves he had rescued were much the same, flinching from hands that were only trying to help them.

Morgana seemed unfazed by his response, offering Merlin a warm smile. “I heard the news from Gwen. It’s wonderful to have you back.”

Merlin pulled an answering smile onto his face. It looked forced, but maybe that was just because Merlin was still trying to mask the pain his ribs were causing him. “Thank you, my lady.” He circled back around the table to stand behind Arthur.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I interrupted. You were saying about Caerleon?”

“Yes. We have had peace between our kingdoms in the past, but Prince Caerleon is something of a hothead. When I expressed my concerns, the King suggested a formal treaty. I believe his intention is to remind his son of the importance of cultivating allies and not enemies in these troubled times. But it falls on us to show Prince Caerleon that we can be valuable friends or dangerous foes, so when his father passes he will not be so foolish as to renege on this treaty.”

“Sounds like a delicate situation,” Morgana said.

“Indeed. Arthur, your knights will need to make an impressive first impression, and the welcoming feast must be unparalleled.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Morgana, I would ask that you see to the comfort and entertainment of Princess Annis.”

“I am happy to help, my lord.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Merlin’s stomach rumbling loudly.

Arthur turned to pin him with a _look._

“Sorry, sire,” Merlin said hastily, his cheeks flushing scarlet.

But Arthur remembered that his servant had not eaten since lunch and he was underfed enough as it was. “Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur advised, but he tossed his servant a bread roll and made a mental note to send for another meal from the kitchens when they were finished here.

Uther sighed but made no comment, tucking into his meal instead. Arthur and Morgana followed suit, and Merlin retreated into the shadows to nibble quietly on his bread roll.

An hour later they were back in Arthur’s chambers and Arthur was watching closely to make sure that Merlin ate every last crumb from his plate in addition to the nutritive potion that Gaius had given him.

“You’ll need your strength for tomorrow,” Arthur told him. “We have a busy day ahead.”

ooOOoo


	8. Chapter Eight

Morgana was simmering with barely suppressed rage. She had been assured by Cenred that Merlin would not be troubling her again. Yet here he was, returned to Arthur’s side and back in Camelot. As soon as she had heard the news, Morgana had sent word to Morgause, and now that darkness had fallen, she awaited her sister’s arrival in the forest.

“Morgana.” As always, a shroud of magic had silenced her approach.

Morgana turned and embraced her sister. “Morgause. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“What is it?”

“ _Merlin_.” Always Merlin. He was a constant thorn in her side.

“The boy? I thought he was long gone.”

“So did I,” Morgana said bitterly. “When Arthur returned to Camelot without him, I thought I was finally rid of that meddlesome fool. Cenred was supposed to make sure that his slaver had Merlin killed.”

“He gave me his assurances that the boy had been put down like the dog he is.”

“He lied. Merlin has been in Essetir this entire time, kept as a slave by the commander of Cenred’s army. There can be little doubt that Cenred knew about it.”

“Why would he keep this from us? If nothing else, Merlin could have been a useful bargaining chip against Arthur.”

Morgana’s eyes flashed; she barely kept her magic contained. “Merlin _poisoned_ me! Cenred should have handed him over so I could kill him myself!”

“Of course, you’re right, sister. Cenred will answer for this, I assure you.”

That wasn’t enough. “I want Merlin _dead._ He might not dare to tell Arthur what he knows, but he watches me like a hawk and has managed to thwart our plans more than once.”

“Are you sure that taking direct action against him is wise? Arthur searched a year for the boy; it seems unlikely that he would abide his murder.”

“So we make it look like an accident. Merlin has a reputation as a clumsy oaf.”

“He also has a remarkable propensity for survival. Even if we were to succeed in killing him this time, Arthur cares so much for the boy that he will undoubtedly ask questions, and if he delves too deep, he could uncover the truth about you.”

“Then we kill them both! I am tired of waiting, sister. Camelot was supposed to fall within a week of my return. Instead, I have been stuck play-acting as Uther’s loving ward for _two years._ ”

“I know that you are frustrated, Morgana, but we cannot act rashly. Cenred will not attack Camelot without knowing that victory is assured. We need an advantage, something that will cripple Camelot’s knights without destroying them completely so they can submit to your rightful rule when you claim the throne. We have a plan; we must stick to it.”

“We don’t even know for certain that records of the ritual of _Gebisgian_ still exist.”

“Patience, sister.”

“I have _been_ patient, but you have searched for _Celestine’s Chronicles_ in every ancient temple, every holy site, every _cave_ in the five kingdoms.”

“I am getting closer. You must trust me, Morgana. After we perform the ritual, we will be able to march on Camelot virtually uncontested. You _will_ be Queen, I promise.”

“And you are certain that a king’s heart is one of the crucial ingredients?”

“Yes. It is unclear whether the heart is literal or metaphorical, though, so until we know for sure we cannot kill Uther or Arthur. You must hold on a little while longer. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” But she wasn’t happy about it.

“And the boy?” Morgause prompted.

“I will not take any action for now. But if he does anything to threaten me-”

“I will kill him myself,” Morgause assured her. “I will let no harm come to you, Morgana. When the time is right, the boy will get what is coming to him. You may be certain of that."

ooOOoo

A good night’s rest was exactly what the physician ordered. Unfortunately for Merlin, Arthur had to be up before the crack of dawn to be out on the first patrol, which meant Merlin had to be awake even earlier. He stumbled about his room in the darkness, trying to get dressed, and when he finally had his boots on the right feet he promptly tripped over his desk on his way to the door. Groaning as he struggled to stand, Merlin wondered what Arthur would do if he just outright refused to leave this room.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur was in the doorway, illuminated by the light of a candle, looking down at him with no small degree of concern.

“Fine,” Merlin bit out.

Arthur grabbed his hand and hoisted him up. “You know there’s an ingenious little invention that people tend to use in situations like this. It’s called a candle.”

  
“Mine burned out last night.” Merlin gestured to the lump of melted wax on his desk.

“You were supposed to be sleeping, not burning the midnight oil.”

“I was. I just – forgot to blow it out.”

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur shook his head in exasperation. “How you’ve managed to stay alive this long is beyond my understanding.”

“I’ve managed to keep _you_ alive this long, haven’t I?”

Arthur frowned, whether because he didn’t believe Merlin’s claims or because he hated to be reminded of Merlin’s magic, Merlin didn’t know. He didn’t care to know which; the first was an insult and the second was a rejection of everything that made Merlin who he was.

“Don’t we have somewhere to be?” he asked irritably.

“Right. Yes.”

Merlin helped Arthur into his armour. The familiar routine helped to sooth his frayed temper somewhat, but he still wasn’t thrilled by the idea of going out on patrol.

“Are we expecting to see any bandits?”

“It’s possible. There have been a few reports of armed men accosting travellers on the road in recent weeks.”

“Fabulous. I don’t suppose you have any spare armour lying around, do you?”

“Whatever for?”

“For me.”

Arthur snorted. “You couldn’t bear the weight.”

“Then you could at least give me a sword.”

“Why on earth would you need a sword?”

“For protection. You said there are bandits out there.”

“So?”

“You expect me to ride into combat with no way of defending myself?”

“You’ve ridden out with me unarmed countless times.”

“No,” Merlin said bluntly. “I haven’t.”

Arthur stared at him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said finally.

“That’s a great comfort,” Merlin muttered.

“Don’t be such a coward.”

Merlin straightened his back and glared levelly at Arthur. “Why don’t you leave your armour and sword behind, then? If an untrained servant has no need of them, surely a trained warrior like yourself should do just fine.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“I have risked my life for you, Arthur. I gave up my freedom for you. I was tortured and enslaved and not once did I say or do anything that would compromise Camelot. Do _not_ call me a coward.”

Arthur was stunned into silence.

“I’ll ride out with you,” Merlin said. “If we change the status quo people will get suspicious, and we can’t have that now, can we?” He stormed out of the chambers, forcing Arthur to follow him.

Merlin prepared the horses in stony silence and led them out into the courtyard to join the rest of the patrol.

“Merlin!” Sir Leon greeted him warmly. “Nice to have you with us again.”

Merlin knew the sentiment was genuine. Sir Leon had always been kind to him, but Merlin had earned his respect when he stopped Arthur from killing Uther in a fit of rage over his mother’s death. Over the many patrols they had ridden out on together, a friendship had developed between them despite the difference in their rank.

Merlin clasped his offered arm. “Thank you, Leon.”

He saw a glimpse of Arthur’s expression out of the corner of his eye; he looked almost – jealous. But Arthur didn’t say anything. He simply mounted his horse and gave the order for the others to do the same.

Arthur rode out ahead. Merlin would usually have ridden beside him but instead he urged his horse to fall into step with Leon’s.

"So what have I missed?” he asked.

“A few skirmishes here and there, a few run-ins with bandits, nothing dramatic. We did seize 12 barrels of smuggled wine last month.”

Merlin gave a low whistle. “That would have fetched a pretty penny.”

“It would have, if the smugglers hadn’t been so foolish as to taste their wares. We found them dancing half naked around their campfire. They were so drunk that they only laughed when we confronted them and invited us to join their party. It took all of five minutes to round them up and they giggled all the way to the dungeons. Easiest arrest we’ve ever made.”

Merlin chuckled. “I bet they felt that in the morning.”

“Worst hangover of their lives, and not a one of them remembered what had happened after they cracked open that first barrel.”

Merlin enjoyed listening to Leon’s stories as they rode, but they couldn’t distract him entirely. He kept a careful eye out for any sound or slight movement in the trees, worried about what could be lying in wait for them. His magic would have been able to detect danger long before it was upon them; being restricted to these dull human senses and slow human reflexes was nothing short of terrifying. He could die from an arrow in the back before he even knew what had happened.  
  


He sat tense in the saddle, gripping the reins tightly, expecting an outbreak of violence at any moment, but in the end their patrol was uneventful.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Arthur said as they arrived back in the courtyard.

_This time._ Merlin didn’t bother to say it out loud. Arthur would just call him a girl for ‘fretting’.

They passed their horses off to the stable-hands and returned to Arthur’s chambers to get him cleaned up for the knighting ceremony. They didn’t have time to get Arthur out of his armour and back into it, so Arthur scrubbed his face with a damp cloth while Merlin slipped a tunic with the Pendragon crest over his chainmail, replaced his cape with a clean one, cleaned his boots and polished his hauberk.

Arthur examined his reflection in the mirror. He fussed over his hair and muttered, “I don’t know how Father expects me to look presentable when he has me running about like a servant.”

Merlin grabbed a comb off the dresser and slapped Arthur’s hand away. “Here.” With a few deft flicks of the comb, he had Arthur’s hair styled precisely the way he liked it.

Arthur exhaled through his nose, a soft, pleased sound. “Haden never could get that right.”

Merlin glanced up into warm blue eyes and suddenly felt that he was standing far too close to the prince. He stepped back and cleared his throat. “You’re all set.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Arthur asked. A small smile quirked his lips. “My sword?”

It was an echo of earlier days, back when they had only just met and Merlin was still trying to get the hang of this whole being-a-manservant thing. There was no malice in Arthur’s voice this time, though, just a gentle humour as he tried to draw Merlin into their usual banter.

Merlin swapped Arthur’s combat sword for his ceremonial one. “Sorry, sire.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped, just a little. “We should get going.”

The knighting ceremony was fairly painless. All Merlin had to do was stand quietly in the shadows and listen as the knights recited their vows. Merlin had memorised the words years ago. _I do solemnly swear to serve the King in valour and faith. To protect the weak and defenceless. To give succour to widows and orphans. To live by honour and for glory. To fight for the welfare of all. At all times to speak the truth. To obey the law and uphold the right. To remain loyal, steadfast and true. Henceforth, I pledge myself to the defence and service of Camelot and her King._

Though Merlin had never formally spoken the words aloud, somewhere along the way he had made similar vows. To use his magic to serve and protect. To defend the helpless and advocate for the persecuted. To watch over Arthur and keep him safe from those who would do him harm. To help Arthur unite Albion and bring peace to the land.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to do any of that without his magic.

“Arise, Sir Frederick, Knight of Camelot,” Arthur said. “Arise, Sir Denmar, Knight of Camelot.”

Merlin joined in with the applause, trying not to feel bitter about the fact that they were permitted to use their skills to serve their king – and were publicly honoured for doing so – when he could not. Such was the privilege of being born a noble. He was just the bastard son of a peasant woman and an exiled dragon lord, a warlock with powers he could not use, a servant who was barely competent at his job, about as worthless as a person could get.

He didn’t belong here.

But he had made his vows. And even if he was prepared to forsake them, he could not leave Arthur. He would not.

ooOOoo

Arthur barely had time for a quick bite of lunch before he had to prepare for Prince Caerleon’s arrival, but he made sure that Merlin ate his fill and swallowed two mouthfuls of each potion before they headed out again.

By mid-day they were standing on the steps of the castle, the knights of Camelot assembled behind them. Arthur had stressed the importance of making a lasting impression; they were dressed in full combat gear, red capes draped dramatically over their shoulders, standing tall and firm. Soldiers were stationed around the courtyard as well. It was a show of might, intended as proof that Camelot was not a kingdom to be trifled with. Now all Arthur had to do was convince Caerleon that they were worthy allies.

Arthur straightened as he heard the first clatter of hooves on the cobblestones.

Caerleon and his princess rode in the van, followed by a contingent of twelve knights that were armed to the teeth.

"Prince Caerleon, Princess Annis. Noble knights of Caerleon. Camelot welcomes you.”

Prince Caerleon drew his horse to a stop and pulled something from his saddlebag. “What kind of welcome is this?”

He flung the object at Arthur’s feet.

It was a mark of their training that the knights did not flinch but Arthur heard Merlin’s gasp.

The severed head oozed blood across the stones.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur demanded.

“I should ask you the same. We come to your lands in the name of peace, and yet we are accosted by bandits on your roads.”

Arthur swallowed. They had scouted the road on their morning patrol, but he had not actively sought out a confrontation with the bandits. He hadn’t wanted to find them – he hadn’t wanted to put Merlin in danger. Instead, he had endangered their honoured guests. “I am sorry-”

“ _Sorry_? My lady was almost killed.”

Princess Annis sat regally in her saddle, but Arthur could see a thin cut across her forehead. His guilt weighed heavier. “We have been hunting the bandits but they evaded us. You have our deepest apologies-”

“You claim to have the best knights in the five Kingdoms, and yet you allow bandits to run rampant.”

“That is not-”

“Unless they were not bandits after all, but assassins.”

“Of course not! This treaty is important for both our kingdoms. I will send out riders immediately-”

Caerleon waved a dismissive hand. “No need. My men were more than a match for them.”

It was a deliberate jab; Caerleon was trying to humiliate him. But it was no less than he deserved. He had failed in his duty, and now these crucial negotiations were in jeopardy. His father was going to kill him unless he found a way to make this right.

Arthur bowed his head. “Our people thank you. We regret that you have had such an unpleasant journey. Please allow us to make it up to you in whatever ways we can.”

Caerleon sneered. “You can try.” He dismounted and his warriors did likewise.

Arthur moved to help Princess Annis but, before he could reach her, she swung out of the saddle and landed with her feet firmly on the ground. She handed him the reigns.

“I presume you can see to our horses.” Her gaze was calm and confident; he could see in her eyes that this was a test. Was she expecting him to delegate the task to another to show his authority, or to do it himself to prove his humility?

“I will see to it personally, my lady.”

A faint glimmer of a smile appeared on her face.

“You boy!” Caerleon snapped. Arthur turned in time to see him throw a heavy bag at Merlin. Merlin grunted as he caught it, pain flashing across his features. Caerleon threw a second bag and Merlin staggered, almost dropping both.

Caerleon’s voice and expression dripped with disdain. “Stupid oaf! Are all the servants of Camelot so clumsy?”

Arthur flared with indignation but Merlin only looked contrite as he said, “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Take these bags to my room,” Caerleon ordered, “and be quick about it!”

Merlin froze. Arthur had already committed himself to the stables and the guest chambers were in the opposite direction. “I can’t.”

_“What?”_

“There are many other servants who can assist you-” Arthur interjected hurriedly.

“You allow your servants to speak with such insolence towards your guests?”

“He was not being insolent, he simply meant to convey that he is my manservant and is duty-bound to remain at my side.”

“As you are duty-bound to protect the people of your kingdom from bandits and thieves.”

Caerleon was goading him, trying to make him angry so he would embarrass himself and his father even more. Arthur endeavoured to remain calm. “Please, allow Haden to assist you instead, he is the best servant in Camelot and will ensure your every need is met.”

Haden hurried forward, bowing deeply.

Caerleon eyed him and seemed less than impressed, but he relented. “Fine.”

Merlin handed the bags over with no small degree of relief showing on his face.

“But I want this one to clean my boots,” Caerleon added with a smirk.

Arthur stiffened.

“Right away, my lord,” Merlin said. He pulled a rag from his pocket and made to kneel.

“With your tongue,” Caerleon said.

Merlin stopped. He looked up at the visiting prince, as though trying to assess if the man was joking.

“Go on, I’m waiting. There’s a week’s worth of mud, blood and manure on these boots; they need a thorough clean. Better get licking.”

There was a dangerous glint in Merlin’s eyes. The bearing of a servant dropped away and suddenly he was that same boy who had stood up to Arthur all those years ago. “I will not.”

_“What did you say?”_

Merlin was not cowed. “You heard me.”

Enraged, Caerleon back-handed Merlin across the face. He went down hard and Caerleon moved to kick him in the ribs – only to be stopped by cold steel against his throat.

“Touch him again and it will be the last thing you do,” Arthur growled.

“You threaten a prince for this worthless scum?”

“In Camelot, we treat our servants with dignity and respect. While you are here you will do the same, or your stay will be very short-lived.”

Caerleon glared fiercely at him but Arthur would not back down.

After a long, tense moment, Caerleon chuckled. “It seems you do have some guts after all.”

Arthur slid his sword back into its scabbard and Caerleon swept past him. His princess and his warriors followed.

Once they were out of sight, Arthur reached down to help Merlin to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Never better,” Merlin muttered. His face was red where it had been struck; soon he would have another bruise to match the dozens that already marred his skin.

"That wasn't very smart," Arthur said.

Merlin was tense as he brushed Arthur’s hand off his arm and there was a sharp bite to his words. “I will not be treated like a slave.”

Arthur looked into his eyes and saw the shadow of what he had suffered in the past year. Merlin had not offered any details and Arthur had not asked, but his informant had said that Merlin was led around by a chain. Who knew what other indignities he had been subjected to? If Briac had ordered Merlin to lick his boots and Merlin had refused, Briac would have used the collar to torture him. Yet it seemed Merlin had lost none of his pride.

“Caerleon was out of line,” Arthur told him. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Merlin didn’t answer. He took the reins of Caerleon’s horse and set off for the stables, leaving Arthur to follow after him.

ooOOoo


	9. Chapter Nine

“I have heard troubling news, Cenred,” Morgause said. She had chosen to wear armour for this visit; where once she had used seduction to bend the King of Essetir to her will, this time she intended to make a show of force. He had crossed her. Worse, he had upset Morgana and that was something she would not tolerate.

“Morgause.” There was no welcoming smile on his face. “I did not receive word that you were coming.”

“The matter was urgent.”

He sighed. “What is it this time?”

“The boy, Merlin.”

Panic flashed in Cenred’s eyes before he hefted an expression of puzzlement onto his face. “Who?”

“You remember. Arthur’s servant. The one captured by your slaver, Jarl.”

“Hm? Oh yes, the Cup incident. You had some grand scheme in mind that fizzled to nothing.”

“Because _your_ men failed to retrieve the Cup. And now I hear that you also failed to kill Merlin. Despite the assurances you gave me to the contrary.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I sent the orders. If they were not carried out, then that is news to me. I will find whoever is responsible-”

“He was kept as a slave in Commander Briac’s fortress. You mean to tell me that your most _trusted_ officer was holding the boy without your knowledge?”

“Briac has many slaves. No doubt Jarl lied about his identity in order to make a sale. I will make sure Briac disposes of him forthwith.”

“You’re too late, Cenred. Merlin has escaped. He is back in Camelot.”

She could see in his eyes that this was not news to him. “Unfortunate,” he said. “But the boy is just a servant; what does it really matter if he’s dead or alive?”

“It matters because he _poisoned_ my sister.”

“So let her take her revenge. If she can.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

She glared, but she knew she could not kill him. They had need of him yet.

“What of your army?” she asked. “Are they prepared for an attack on Camelot?”

“There is not going to be an attack on Camelot.”

“ _What?”_

“The window has passed, my lady. Camelot is too well defended now.”

“Because they have added a few more men to their army? A hundred soldiers here or there make little difference; we have magic on our side.”

“So do they.”

“What are you talking about? Uther would never condone the use of magic and even if he did, there isn’t a sorcerer alive that would help him.”

“You’re wrong, Morgause. A powerful warlock lives in the very heart of Camelot and his loyalty belongs to Arthur. He is the reason our last assault on the citadel failed, and he is the reason we will fail once more.”

Morgause was sceptical. “And who is this warlock?”

“I cannot say. I have angered him enough; I will not give him further cause to come after me.”

“But you would risk angering me.”

“I am sorry, my lady. I understand your desire to move against Camelot, but I will not sacrifice my men in a war we cannot hope to win.”

“You are a coward, Cenred.”

“In my experience, cowards live longer,” he said.

She raised a hand. “I would not count on that.” She was ready to strike him down where he stood but at a click of his fingers, a hundred soldiers filled the room.

“I would not do that if I were you, my lady,” Cenred said calmly. “My men are extremely loyal. If you kill me, they will come after you, one after another.”

“I will kill them if they try.”

“You may be powerful, Morgause, but at some point you will have to sleep. You cannot be alert at all hours of the day. But you misjudge me, my lady. I hold no ill will towards you, and I would have you go in peace. If you value your life as I do, you too will abandon this quest against Camelot. You will find no victory there.”

“We shall see.”

Morgause swept from the room. Cenred would die for his treachery, but she would deal with Camelot first. And without Cenred’s army, she needed a new plan.

ooOOoo

Uther spent the better part of half an hour yelling at Arthur for his failed patrol and disgraceful conduct, accusing him of bringing shame on Camelot. Arthur bore it silently, not trying to make any excuses. He knew he had let his father down.

“We have got to make sure that this is the most spectacular feast Camelot has ever seen,” Arthur said to Merlin afterwards. “Everything depends on it.”

The next few hours were a blur of activity as they purchased an inordinate about of food from vendors in the market, planned an extravagant menu for the cook and rounded up some extra hands for her when she complained that she couldn’t possibly get all that done with the meagre staff she had, ordered the banquet hall to be cleaned from top to bottom _twice_ , had the silverware polished until it was almost blinding, found brand new clothes for every lord, lady and servant in the court so no one would look shabby, organised for the most lavish decorations to adorn the corridors and banquet hall, hired the best entertainers in the city to perform at the feast, fetched the barrels of expensive wine that had been seized from the smugglers and raided the treasury for gifts to present to the prince and princess.

They barely had enough time to get Arthur dressed and Merlin was _not_ happy to be donning the ceremonial garb of a servant of Camelot again, but somehow Arthur was seated next to his father at the high table with Merlin stood behind him (minus the hat) a few sparse minutes before their guests entered the hall.

“What do you think, Father?” Arthur dared to ask.

“It is adequate.”

That was about as much as he could have hoped for.

The feast commenced with a somewhat long-winded speech from Uther, followed by an answering speech from Caerleon, and by the time Uther made a toast to peace between their kingdoms Arthur was more than ready for a drink. He gulped down the entire cupful in three swallows and Merlin (uncharacteristically attentive) topped up his goblet. At Arthur’s slight gesture he moved to do the same for Uther and their guests.

Caerleon must have recognised Merlin from before; as Merlin tipped his jug, Caerleon deliberately nudged his goblet so the wine spilled everywhere.

Uther cuffed Merlin sharply on the back of his head. “Idiot,” he hissed. “Clean this mess up at once.”

Merlin swayed woozily, his eyes glazing before he stubbornly blinked back to awareness. “Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord.”

Caerleon was smirking and Arthur wanted to throttle him. He couldn’t stand to make conversation with the man, so he focused his attention on his meal and drank rather too much wine. The feast seemed to stretch for an eternity, and just when he thought it might be drawing to a close Morgana suggested that the musicians play some dance music. Before Arthur knew what was happening, Morgana had led Caerleon out onto the dance floor and he found that he had to do the same with Princess Annis.

“I am afraid I am not a very good dancer,” Arthur confessed as he nervously placed a hand on her waist.

“Tell me, Prince Arthur – what is the first thing you learned when you were trained with a sword?”

The seemingly off-topic question almost threw him until he realised the answer and its bearing on his current predicament. “Footwork.”

“I thought as much. You have a reputation as a skilled warrior, so I think I can trust you not to step on my feet?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“Allow me to lead, and we should not have a problem.”

He conceded and they managed to find a comfortable rhythm.

“I apologise again for the trouble you faced on the road,” Arthur said.

“The bandits hid from your patrols; that is some indication of how formidable your knights are. Perhaps the bandits considered us an easier target.”

“They were wrong.”

“Indeed. Based on their attack strategy, I rather think they assumed if they could take me hostage, the men would stand down. But the first to lay a hand on me was rewarded with my dagger in his heart, and the rest fell swiftly.”

“You have great courage, my lady.”

“These are dangerous times we live in. It hardly seems prudent to rely on others for protection.”

“When you become queen, the kingdom of Caerleon will be strong indeed.”

“And when you are King? Do you think you will rule as Uther does?”

That was a loaded question. Arthur glanced towards his father at the high table, and the servant who stood in the shadows. People lived in fear of Uther. He was strong, but he was also ruthless. He had raised this kingdom from its knees, but Arthur did not always agree with his decisions and didn’t know what he would do when the mantle of leadership rested on his shoulders alone. “I will do my best to ensure that Camelot is a fair and just land, where her people can live in peace and prosperity.”

Her lips curved slightly. “You did not answer my question.”

He shrugged. “I guess we cannot know what we shall be until the moment is upon us.”

“True enough.”

After a time, Caerleon reclaimed his wife and Arthur danced with Morgana instead.

“You haven’t managed to trip over your own feet yet,” she observed.

“I am a master of footwork,” he scoffed.

“On the battlefield, maybe, but I remember that gangly teenager who slipped on the dancefloor and took me down with him.”

Arthur flushed. “That was years ago.”

“The ladies of the court still remember it.”

“No doubt because you retell the story every chance you get.”

She grinned cheekily at him. “Perhaps. It’s not often I am paired with such a klutz. Take Caerleon for example – now there is a man who knows how to dance.”

“Surely there are more important qualities in a man.”

“You cannot win a girl on looks alone, Arthur. Speaking of which, I’ve noticed that you haven’t spent much time with Gwen lately.”

The name was a jolt to his system. He realised that he hadn’t even thought about her much lately, at least not in that way. He had been too busy thinking about – _looking for_ Merlin.

“Has something happened between you?” Morgana asked.

“No.” Nothing bad, but nothing progressive either. They had only ever been on that one romantic picnic; the rest had been fleeting touches and stolen kisses and the promise of someday. But over the past year he had been too occupied with his war against slavery to pursue anything with her. She had been the one person he thought he couldn’t live without, but when push came to shove – he had gone looking for Merlin.

Even now that Merlin was back, safe and (almost) sound, Arthur didn’t know if he could try to pick things up again with Gwen. They had drifted apart, and she seemed to be getting along well enough without him. In fact, she was probably safer this way – his feelings for her had only ever brought her trouble. Merlin, on the other hand – he needed Arthur to look out for him, now more than ever.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?” He remembered that he was supposed to be dancing and realised that he had been staring over at Merlin instead. “Sorry.”

“Maybe you should go to bed,” Morgana suggested.

“With Merlin?” he squawked, before realising what she meant. “Oh- um- yeah, I am a bit tired.”

“And drunk, it seems,” she said dryly. “Off you go, before you fall over.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course. There are plenty of handsome men lining up to dance with me.” On cue, a young knight approached and swept her away across the dance floor.

Arthur went to bid his father goodnight and then beckoned to Merlin.

The cool air of the corridors was refreshing. Some of his fatigue slipped away, but he could still feel the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his veins and with Merlin it was far easier (and safer) to let his guard down.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said. “I mean Caerleon is a complete jerk, but Princess Annis seems to have her head screwed on straight.”

“She’s a better dancer than you, at any rate,” Merlin quipped. “Maybe you should let women lead more often.”

“I’d rather not dance with women.” Arthur frowned. He was more intoxicated than he thought. “Dance, I mean. I’d rather not dance, period.”

“Mm, I can see how it would be difficult for you, not being the best at something for once.”

“I could be the best,” he objected. “I just haven’t had the time to practice.”

“Or found a woman who’d risk her toes to teach you.”

“You could practice with me.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Not even if you paid me, sire.”

“I do pay you. And I could make it an order.”

“I think cleaning your socks and scrubbing your floors is quite enough to be getting on with.”

Irrationally, Arthur actually felt disappointed. “Spoil sport.”

Merlin was giving him the strangest look. “That wine really is potent. At the next feast, I’ll be sure to let your cup run dry.”

“Are you saying I can’t handle my li-liquor?” The hiccough was very inconveniently timed.

Merlin chuckled. “You’re saying that quite well enough for yourself. Come on, Arthur, let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s get _you_ to bed,” Arthur said. “I mean- you’re clearly tireder than me.”

“Clearly, if you’ve got the wits about you to be inventing new words,” Merlin said dryly. “Honestly, Arthur, how did you cope without me?”

“I didn’t,” Arthur said honestly. “I missed you.”

Merlin stared at him. After a long moment, he coughed awkwardly. “You too.”

Arthur felt a dopey grin spread across his face and tried to nudge Merlin with his shoulder (though it was rather more like falling into him). “You’re talking to me. You haven’t been talking to me. I missed that the most, I think.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me to shut up anymore?”

Arthur shook his head. “I never really meant it, you know. And now I know what life’s like without your inane prattle.”

“Yeah?”

“Quiet. Too quiet.”

“They do say you should be careful what you wish for.”

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin frowned at him, not understanding.

“For telling you to shut up. And for – for leaving you behind.” Those words had been weighing on him since he’d found Merlin. He hadn’t dared to say them out loud, too afraid that Merlin blamed him as much as he blamed himself.

But Merlin dismissed his fears with a wave of his hand. “I told you to. The kingdom was at stake.”

That didn’t feel like a good enough reason. “I tried to go back for you, but by the time I got there you were gone. I felt sick. I couldn’t sleep for days and then when I did, I had these awful nightmares. I could hear you screaming my name but I could never get to you and _god,_ it was _real_ , wasn’t it? They really were hurting you. They were _torturing_ you and I wasn’t there to stop them. I’m sorry. I tried to find you. You know I never stopped looking, right? You know that.”

“I know,” Merlin said gently. “It’s okay, Arthur. I’m here now.”

“It’s not okay. I left you there, I let them do that to you. I should have found you sooner, I should have saved you.”

“You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

“Arthur, there isn’t another prince or nobleman in all the kingdoms who would have gone to such lengths for a mere servant. I’m grateful.”

Arthur stopped him, grabbing his shoulders to look him square in the eyes. “You’re no mere servant. You’re-”

Merlin waited expectantly, but Arthur couldn’t find the right words.

“You’re Merlin,” he said at last.

“That is my name,” Merlin agreed. “Come on, that’s enough soul-baring for one night. You’re going to regret all of this in the morning.” He led Arthur to his chambers and helped him undress, then tumbled him into the bed and pulled the covers over him.

Arthur watched Merlin leave, closing the door of his own room behind him, and he did regret it. Not what he’d said, but what he hadn’t.

ooOOoo


	10. Chapter Ten

Morgana clutched the tiny scroll in her fist, unable to believe the news it contained.

They had lost their army.

Cenred had made some ridiculous claim that there was a powerful warlock in Camelot and he had withdrawn his support for their campaign.

Simply killing Arthur and Uther would not be enough to win her the throne of Camelot. She needed a conquering army to subdue the knights and control the people until she had their sworn loyalty. Morgause had tried to sound reassuring in the note she had sent, but Morgana was infuriated that they had not acted when they had the chance. Now they were back to square one, and her rightful crown was once more beyond her reach. Gaining her freedom seemed an impossible dream and she _could not stand it._

She tried to think where she could source another army from. Alined was always eager for war, but he was a slimy man with a pitiful army at his back. Bayard was no friend of magic, the Sarrum even less so. Lord Godwyn and King Olaf were loyal friends to Uther. King Rodor of Nemeth had no ambition and no particular quarrel with Camelot save an ancient dispute over a small portion of land that was hardly worth going to war over. Odin hated Arthur with a passion, but he was too cowardly to take any direct action against Camelot – he preferred to send assassins to do his dirty work. The Southrons were perhaps a possibility…

But then she realised that the answer was right in front of her nose.

Caerleon. He was ambitious and power hungry. He had one of the largest armies in the five Kingdoms and had already earned a reputation as a conqueror. He clearly had little regard for Uther and even less for Arthur; the only reason he was signing this treaty was because his father had ordered him to. He was thirsty for war and if she played her cards right, he could be deceived into thinking she was a puppet that he could easily cast aside later – of course, he would be the one cast aside, and then she would be in control of two armies. Morgause could rule the lands of Caerleon. Together, they could even march on Essetir and take their revenge for Cenred's betrayal. Eventually they could rule over all of Albion, and magic could take its rightful place in the world.

It was the perfect plan, and best of all she had already planted the first seeds during their dance at the banquet. She could read in Caerleon's eyes and in the way that he had held her that he lusted for her body. He would be easy to manipulate.

Feeling a renewed sense of hope and purpose, Morgana strode from her rooms to seek out her prey.

ooOOoo

The delegation from Caerleon stayed for a week. Arthur did everything his father asked of him – he set up training sessions between his knights and Caerleon’s to demonstrate their fighting prowess, he took Caerleon out on hunting trips and always made the first kill, he regaled Caerleon with stories of Camelot’s great victories and walked him through the trophy hall to show him the mounted heads of dragons, serkets, wilddeoren, bears, boars, stags and the rarer griffin, cockatrice and Questing Beast. He did everything he could to prove to Caerleon that Camelot was formidable, and despite his violent dislike for the man he even tried to build a friendship with him.

He was almost certain that all his efforts were in vain, but the treaty was signed and Caerleon swore that he would hold true to this alliance with the ruling Pendragon in Camelot. A man’s word was his bond, but Arthur did not trust him in the slightest.

When the week was done, Arthur was glad to see the back of him.

Uther’s ire had died down, so Arthur found that his duties were relaxed slightly and that meant he was able to give Merlin a bit more time to rest.

Merlin did not need to be told twice. He collapsed into his bed every chance he got and within minutes he would be snoring softly. Arthur found more and more excuses to do work in his chambers, not wanting to disturb the sleep that Merlin so clearly needed.

He admired the way that Merlin had powered through this past week. He didn’t complain about the long action-packed days, he barely showed any hints of physical discomfort even though his injuries still had to be hurting him, he put up with Caerleon’s derisive remarks and continued attempts to make him look a fool, and he barely used the rejuvenating potion.

It had all caught up to him now, of course, but Arthur had a newfound respect for his servant. He was tougher than Arthur had ever given him credit for.

Gaius came to check on him at least once a day and he reported that Merlin was healing nicely but still had a way to go before he would be fully recovered. Gwen was also a frequent visitor, and Arthur finally remembered to ask her to cut Merlin’s hair. With his usual hair style, gradual weight gain and fading bruises, he was slowly beginning to look like himself again.

The most surprising visit came in the form of an intruder who scaled the castle wall and clambered through Arthur’s window, almost earning a sword through his gut until Arthur realised who it was.

“Gwaine!”

The rogue flipped his hair back and grinned at him. “Miss me, princess?”

“What are you doing here? My father banished you from Camelot on pain of death, remember?”

“That’s why I didn’t just walk through the front door,” Gwaine said.

“Yeah, remind me to keep my window locked in future.”

“Oh, don’t get your petticoats in a twist, yours wasn’t the first window I climbed into, though for a moment there I did worry that I’d given poor Gaius a heart-attack. Once he got his breathing back under control, he told me that the rumours I’d heard were true, but that I was looking in the wrong place. What’s Merlin doing living on this side of the castle now? And how did you find him? Where was he? Is he okay? Did you kill the bastard who had him? Where is Merlin? Can I see him?”

“Whoa, slow down. I can’t answer fifty questions at once.”

“Then start from the beginning. Or better yet, fetch Merlin so I can hug the stuffing out of him and hear the whole story straight.”

“He’s asleep in his room,” Arthur said.

Gwaine’s searching eyes quickly found the door to the servant’s quarters. He took a step towards it, but Arthur caught his arm.

“He needs the rest.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed. “How badly is he hurt?”

The unsanitised version wasn't pleasant. Arthur knew how much Gwaine cared about Merlin and would spare him the knowledge if he could. “Gaius says that he’s healing fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“He's thin. Thinner than usual. They didn't feed him enough.”

“There's more.”

“He's got a lot of deep bruising and a few of his ribs were broken…” He decided not to mention the burns on his neck, unwilling to go into detail about the how and why of them.

There was a dark expression on Gwaine’s face and his hands clenched into fists. “I assume you gave back as good as he got to the bastards who did this to him.”

“Not as much as I would have liked,” Arthur admitted. Every time he saw a wince of pain cross over Merlin’s features, he felt a powerful urge to march back into Essetir and beat his captors bloody. “But I did cut off Briac’s hand.”

Gwaine raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s something I suppose. Briac, you say. Isn’t that the commander of Cenred’s army?”

“One and the same.”

“So while I was chasing Jarl all over the five kingdoms, Merlin was in Essetir the whole time.”

“Apparently Jarl handed him over to Cenred when he came looking for me. Cenred made him a slave in Briac’s household.”

“Why didn’t Cenred just kill him outright? Surely a servant of Camelot would have held no value to him.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur lied. “Maybe he thought Merlin would have information about the city’s defences that he could use against us.”

“Merlin wouldn’t give that information freely.” Gwaine searched Arthur’s face for the answer to his unspoken question; Arthur glanced away, trying to hide the guilt he felt, and Gwaine knew without having to be told. “They tortured him.”

“Merlin didn’t give them anything,” Arthur said. That was important. People needed to know that Merlin was a hero.

“Of course he didn’t,” Gwaine muttered. There was no surprise in his eyes, only admiration – and grief. Because he knew, just as Arthur did, that the longer someone held out under torture, the more pain they suffered. “He'd die before he would betray you, Arthur. That kid’s loyalty knows no bounds. Pity the same can’t be said about us.”

“We never gave up the search.”

“We shouldn’t have left him behind in the first place!”

“We didn’t have a choice.” He had rationalised it the same way over and over again; but he could never quite convince himself that it was true. Because honestly, he could have chosen to leave Merlin at home. It had been selfish and irresponsible to bring him on the quest in the first place.

“I could have gone back for him while you went after the cup,” Gwaine persisted.

“I would never have been able to get it safely back to Camelot without your help. The safety of the kingdom had to come first.” And never had the burden of his responsibilities weighed heavier.

“It’s not my kingdom,” Gwaine retorted. “Merlin’s my friend. I should have protected him.”

“You protected Arthur,” came a voice from behind them. Arthur and Gwaine both whirled around to see that Merlin was leaning against his doorframe. Their raised voices must have woken him.

Gwaine’s hitched gasp was almost a sob. “Merlin. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. You kept Arthur safe; that’s the important thing.”

“But-”

“I’m fine, Gwaine.”

Gwaine walked over to him and grasped his shoulders as if to confirm that he was real and solid and not simply a mirage that would vanish when he blinked. He exhaled, his gaze flitting upwards for a second as though to thank some unknown deity for returning his friend when all logic suggested that he was long dead, and then pulled Merlin into a careful hug. Merlin stiffened almost imperceptibly before he returned the embrace. When Gwaine pulled back he regarded Merlin sadly. “No, you’re not fine. You’re just good at pretending.”

Merlin swallowed. The calm façade he had been wearing fractured for a second, revealing the raw pain beneath, but he quickly shored up the mask. “I’m fine,” he reiterated.

Gwaine's voice was exceedingly gentle. “Merlin, no one expects you to recover from something like this overnight.”

Arthur didn’t miss the quick glance Merlin shot in his direction and he felt another stab of guilt. He had forced Merlin to get back to work immediately, as though the past year hadn’t happened and as though nothing had changed.

“If it were me, I’d be a wreck,” Gwaine continued. “I’d spend the days drowning in alcohol and the nights crying myself to sleep.”

“You do that anyway,” Merlin quipped with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Touché. But Merlin-”

“Gwaine, I appreciate your concern. But what happened, happened. They hurt me, I lived through it and I’m home now. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Arthur wondered who he was trying to convince – Gwaine, or himself. It seemed obvious now, how much Merlin was struggling to keep it together. Arthur didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. But then, maybe he hadn't wanted to. He wanted his Merlin back, healthy and happy and unchanged. The Merlin that was always ready with a smile and a witty comeback, not the Merlin who was haunted by traumas that no one should have to go through.

“It matters to me,” Gwaine said tightly, evidently seeing the same damage. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Those bastards should be made to pay for what they did to you.”

“Killing them won’t change anything.” Merlin seemed too weary to match Gwaine's rage over the injustices he had suffered. “I'd rather just forget it ever happened.”

But how could he, Arthur wondered, when he still wore the collar they had enslaved him with around his neck?

The guilt burned stronger than ever, but regardless of the surrounding circumstances, the collar was the best way to keep Merlin’s magic contained and Arthur firmly believed that such measures were necessary. He wasn’t prepared to lose Merlin to his father’s crusade against magic. One year without him had been bad enough; he couldn’t face the prospect of a lifetime.

Gwaine stared at Merlin for a long moment. “I find that a stiff drink works a charm for erasing bad memories,” he said at last. “At least temporarily. What do you say we blow this joint and pop down to the tavern for a belt? My treat.”

Arthur was less than impressed that Gwaine apparently wanted to teach Merlin such an unhealthy coping method, until he cottoned onto the idea that maybe Gwaine just wanted Merlin to lose the cool exterior and open up to him a little. He could sympathise with that; Merlin had been frustratingly tight-lipped since his return to Camelot. No, scratch that – Merlin had _always_ been tight-lipped, but Arthur had only just become aware of how much he was holding back. Maybe a little bit of alcohol in his system would draw some honest answers out of him for once.

“I can’t,” Merlin said.

“I’m sure the princess can spare you for one night.”

“More to the point, _you_ can’t,” Merlin reminded him. “I doubt the bar keeper would forget the man who broke the record for the biggest bar tab ever run up in a single night. And you’re supposed to have been banished from Camelot.”

“Technicalities.”

“He’s right,” Arthur said, earning a glare from the notorious tavern-hopper. “But… we do have some decent wine here.”

“Royal red?” Gwaine asked. He clapped his hands together. “I’m in!”

“Arthur, I’m not sure this is such a good idea-”

“Nonsense. It’ll be fun.” Before Merlin could protest, Arthur called for Haden to bring them a few bottles from the wine store.

Gwaine took the first sip and hummed appreciatively. “Living in a castle certainly has its perks, doesn’t it, princess?”

“I live in a castle and I don’t get to drink this stuff,” Merlin said.

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “Tonight, you do. Make the most of it.” He poured his servant a generous quantity, practically filling the goblet to the brim.

Merlin cautiously lifted the goblet to his lips. At the first taste, he smiled. “Oh, that's good.”

“And there is plenty more where that came from. Drink up.”

Arthur sipped conservatively, conscious of the way his mouth had run away with him the last time he’d been drunk and not eager to repeat the experience – there were some truths he wasn’t even ready to admit to himself yet and it was better that they stay safely buried. He noticed that Gwaine wasn’t drinking much either, too busy spinning some outrageous stories for Merlin’s entertainment (and not giving him much space to get a word in edgewise). The result was that Merlin was unknowingly drinking a lot more than either of them, which, Arthur realised, was exactly what Gwaine intended.

“How are you doing, Merlin?” Gwaine asked.

“Mm… good,” Merlin slurred.

“You want to elaborate on that for me? Are you in any pain?”

“No-o. It floated away.” He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “I have to tell you, this prison is a lot nicer than my last one.”

Arthur’s breath caught. “ _What?”_

“They never gave me wine,” Merlin said, apparently oblivious to Arthur’s reaction. “They barely gave me water. Pretty sure they scooped it from the horses’ watering trough when they had to. Tasted gross. At first. But then, you know, when you’re dying of thirst… starts to taste pretty good. This is better, though.” He gulped down another mouthful and smiled hazily.

“Merlin, this isn’t a prison,” Arthur said. “You’re home, remember? You’re back in Camelot.”

Merlin blinked at him. “Doesn’t need bars. Can do more with a lot less metal. But ’s fine. Soft bed, warm meals and… and _wine_. And no one hits me here. Well, you hit me sometimes. You threw a goblet at me once. That hurt. And you batter me pretty good during training. Think you wanna… toughen me up.”

Arthur squirmed uncomfortably. He never meant to hurt his servant, it was just good-natured... prattish behaviour. The sort of thing Merlin had called him out on the very first time they met, and then for some reason put up with later. Arthur wondered if he had subconsciously been trying to get Merlin to talk to him that way again. He had been buzzing with self-confidence and some indefinable inner strength that day, completely lacking in fear or deference, and it had been as intriguing as it was annoying. Arthur had felt drawn to him in a way he had never experienced before. And then Merlin became his servant and the dynamic shifted, and a part of Arthur had been trying to get back those first sparks ever since. But that was no excuse for batting Merlin around like some plaything. “Merlin-”

“I don’t mind. It only hurts for a little while. Briac made it hurt for ages. Three days, once. Couldn’t stop screaming. He said it was like music. I think we have better music at our banquets. Except Lady Helen. She wasn’t very nice. Tried to kill you. Good thing her singing magic didn’t work on me, or you’d be dead. You probably shouldn’t let her do it again, though. I can’t save you now. I’m useless. Don’t know why you keep me around. Or why you even brought me back here. Hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Merlin.”

“Hate who I am. And I’m me. Can’t not be me. Except I am.”

It should have been incoherent nonsense, but somehow Arthur knew that he was talking about his magic.

“Merlin, I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

A laugh bubbled from his throat. “Safe. Never safe. Not before, less now. But the safety of the kingdom has to come first. I know. I’d die for Camelot. Wouldn’t hurt her. Wouldn’t let you down. But you hate me anyway. Doesn’t matter what I do. I’m me.”

“I _don’t_ hate you! Merlin, don’t say that. You’re not being fair. I searched a year for you.”

“For someone else. Disappointed by who you found.”

“No!”

Merlin flinched away from him.

Arthur flinched too, hating that Merlin was afraid of him. He wanted to blame Briac and what had been done to him over the past year, but this wasn’t about the man who had imprisoned him. This was about Arthur, who Merlin seemed to think was imprisoning him still. He struggled to regain his calm. “No. Merlin, I - please don't think that. Never that. I don't hate you. If anything, it's the opposite." He swallowed, far too close to a confession for comfort.

Merlin looked at him, a glimmer of comprehension in his eyes, but then he shook his head. "Can't," he said simply.

Arthur's heart was pounding. "What does that mean?"

"What are the two of you talking about?”

Arthur started; he had forgotten that Gwaine was in the room with them. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Merlin?” Gwaine pressed.

“Nothing,” Merlin echoed. He stared down into his goblet, sloshing the contents around without making any further move to drink it.

“Do you want a re-fill?” Gwaine offered.

After a moment of consideration, Merlin set down the cup. “No. ‘m tired. I think ’m just going to go to bed.”

Gwaine frowned, but he refrained from commenting on the fact that Merlin had only woken up an hour ago. “Alright. I don’t know when I will have the chance to visit again, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Merlin stood up; or at least he tried to, but the alcohol in his system had him listing alarmingly to the side.

Gwaine caught him before he could fall over. “Here, why don’t I give you a hand?”

Merlin smiled and swayed closer to his friend. “Thanks,” he slurred.

“You’ve done it for me. About time I returned the favour.” He helped Merlin over to the door and together they disappeared into Merlin’s room.

Arthur felt an irrational burst of jealousy that he swiftly pushed aside. Gwaine was just putting Merlin to bed. He would pull off Merlin’s boots and tuck him into the covers, and there would be nothing more to it.

Arthur picked at the wood of the table, listening to Merlin’s incoherent mumbling and Gwaine’s quiet replies. Sheets rustled, and Merlin fell silent.

It felt like an age before Gwaine emerged. When he did, he was holding Merlin’s neckerchief.

Arthur felt a flare of alarm as he realised what the other man must have seen. “Gwaine-”

“Why does Merlin have that _thing_ around his neck?” His knuckles were white around the tattered cloth and his dark eyes flashed with anger as he looked up at the Prince, waiting for an answer.

Arthur moved across the room and shut Merlin’s door, not wanting to disturb him. “The collar was Briac’s doing. It cannot be removed.”

“Not by conventional means, no.” Gwaine seized his wrist and yanked up his sleeve before Arthur could stop him, revealing the bracelet. “But you could release him. Instead, you are keeping him prisoner. I want to know why.”

Arthur wrenched out of Gwaine’s grip. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t believe you any more than Merlin does.”

“Look, it’s complicated, alright? There’s a lot that you don’t know.”

“I’m not stupid, princess. I know what that collar is. What it means. Honestly, I can’t even say that I’m surprised. I always knew that there was something special about Merlin.”

Arthur glowered at him. “That ‘something special’ is what got him into this mess in the first place. It’s a curse, and he would be well rid of it. Unfortunately, I know of no way to free him of the taint, but at least the collar keeps him human.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Can you not see what that collar has done to him? It’s an instrument of torture! The scars he bears are nothing compared to the pain it is capable of inflicting.”

“I’m not going to let it hurt him again.”

“It’s hurting him now!”

“We’d hear him if it was.” Arthur shuddered, remembering the sound of Merlin’s screams at Briac’s fortress.

“I don’t mean physically. Merlin used to look at you like you were the sun, moon and stars all rolled into one. Now you’re his jailer.”

“Gwaine, I know what I’m doing. This is in Merlin’s best interests.”

“The hell it is! After everything he has been through, he deserves his freedom.”

“He chose this, Gwaine. It’s not like I’m holding him against his will.”

Gwaine glared. “Just because Merlin’s too loyal to leave doesn’t mean he is okay with being shackled like a dog.”

“The collar is controlling his – problem. That’s all.”

“Who says it is a problem? If anything, I should think his magic is a great help to him – and no doubt to you as well. He’s the sort of person who would use it to benefit others more than himself.”

“He shouldn’t be using it at all! If anyone caught him, he would be put to death.”

“So would I, but I don’t see you calling the guards.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you think Merlin deserves the same consideration? He has never been anything but loyal to you.”

“That’s why I haven’t turned him in. I’m protecting him, Gwaine.”

“His magic could protect him a darn sight better than you ever could.”

“Not from my father.”

“So stand up for him, like you did for me when I was the one on death row. Surely the fact that _Merlin_ , of all people, has magic is proof that magic can’t be evil. And if magic isn’t evil, your father’s laws are wrong.”

Arthur wasn’t prepared to face the possibility that his father had been wrong to ban magic. Hundreds of people had been executed during the Great Purge, and many more had been killed under Uther’s laws in the years that followed. Since Arthur gained command of Camelot’s army, he had been responsible for hunting down anyone suspected of sorcery. He had to believe that the war against magic was necessary to keep the kingdom safe.

“Merlin is the exception,” Arthur decided. “And if he continued to use magic, it would corrupt him, too.”

“This is Merlin we’re talking about. The kid hasn’t got a bad bone in his body.”

Arthur knew that. In a world filled with selfish, violent, cruel and greedy people, Merlin was the opposite. Arthur didn’t understand how such an innocent could be cursed with magic, but he was determined that it would not steal Merlin from him.

“The collar stays,” Arthur said firmly. “Merlin has accepted that it is necessary. You must as well.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Unfortunately, the matter is not up to you. This is between Merlin and myself.”

“If he decides to leave, you must release him immediately.”

Arthur eyed Gwaine’s sword. “Is that a threat?”

Gwaine caught the direction of his gaze and settled his hand deliberately on the hilt of his weapon. “If it has to be.”

Threatening the prince was treason, but Arthur couldn’t blame the man. Merlin’s earnest nature inspired friendship and loyalty in practically everyone he met.

“Merlin is not my prisoner,” Arthur assured him. “If he wants to go…” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “If he chooses to return to Ealdor, I won’t stop him. You have my word.”

Arthur could tell by Gwaine’s expression that he still wasn’t happy, but his hand dropped from his sword. “I should be going. The sun will be up soon.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll fetch a rope.” There had been a number of occasions when Arthur had been forced to sneak out of his rooms, so he had taken to keeping a rope close at hand – one that was actually long enough to reach the ground. He retrieved it from his cupboard and handed it over. “Be careful, Gwaine.”

Gwaine tied the rope securely around Arthur’s bedpost and tested it with a sharp jerk. “Take care of Merlin.”

“I will.”

Gwaine disappeared through the window, and Arthur was left standing in the silence of his chambers.

He looked down at the bracelet encircling his wrist. He traced the symbols with the nail of his thumb and hoped for the hundredth time that he was doing the right thing.

ooOOoo


	11. Chapter Eleven

Merlin had a headache.

It was a mild form of pain in comparison with what he had experienced over the past year, but he didn’t appreciate how the world was off-kilter and the sun shone too bright, or how even the thought of food made him nauseous. The worst part, though, was not being able to remember what had happened the night before. He had vague recollections of seeing Gwaine and tasting royal wine, but everything else was a blur.

He tried asking Arthur about it, but the prince wouldn’t meet his gaze. When Merlin pushed, Arthur said they had listened to Gwaine tell outlandish stories that couldn’t possibly be true until Merlin fell asleep at the table, and then Gwaine had made his way out of the city before the sun came up. Merlin wanted to believe him, but he had an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach that something else had happened. Or maybe that was just the wine threatening to make a reappearance.

Merlin was distracted for most of the morning as he tried to muddle through his hazy memories. The most he managed to dredge up was an image of Arthur’s face, looking both upset and earnest at the same time, as though he was trying and failing to say something important. Merlin wished he knew what it was, but he knew Arthur wouldn’t tell him.

The return of a long-range scout drew his attention back to the court room proceedings. Scouts had a dangerous job, travelling the five kingdoms under the guise of a merchant or a bard and gathering information that could pertain to the safety or prosperity of Camelot. They were often gone for months at a time, only returning if they had crucial news to deliver.

Scout Peyton had only been sent out a week ago.

When his name was announced, the entire room went silent. Merlin could feel the tension rolling off Arthur in waves, and every soldier present moved unconsciously to grasp the pommels of their swords.

His expression grave, Uther beckoned the man forward.

Peyton bowed his head. “My lord.”

“What news from the East?” Uther asked. The room waited with bated breath for the answer. Everyone knew that his words could herald the beginning of a war.

“You asked me to investigate the status of Cenred’s army.”

“Yes,” Uther agreed. “We know that he has been recruiting heavily over the past two years. Recent events-” He looked pointedly at Arthur “-may have been enough to spur him into action. We need to know how many men he has, what their movements are and what the timeline for his attack is.”

“I do not believe there will be one, sire.”

A ripple of surprise went through the room. People looked at each other and then back to the scout, wondering if they had heard correctly. Uther blinked. “Come again?”

“Forgive me, my lord, but as far as I have been able to determine, there are no plans for Essetir to invade Camelot.”

“Impossible. Cenred has always coveted my throne.”

“I cannot gainsay that, sire, all I can tell you is what I have seen and what I have heard on my travels.”

“Go on, then.”

“King Cenred has disbanded half of his forces. He paid and released the mercenaries he had recruited to his cause, and dismissed the men he had conscripted from among farmers and townsfolk. His army has reduced to the size it was three years ago. He still maintains strong defences and regular patrols of his lands, but he no longer has the manpower for a full-scale invasion. From the evidence, I would surmise that he has let go of his plans to conquer Camelot, at least for now.”

Murmurs of relief came from the onlookers, but Uther frowned. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“I do not know his mind, my lord, but I heard that an important alliance fell through.”

Merlin glanced towards Morgana and noticed a twist of distaste on her lips. He wondered if that meant that Cenred and Morgause had dissolved their partnership. If that was the case, it was good news for Camelot.

Uther didn’t seem convinced. “What if it is a ploy? Cenred could be planning to lull us into a false sense of security and then strike when we least expect it. I cannot believe he would allow the insult against his Commander – however unauthorised it may have been,” he glared at Arthur again, “– to go unchallenged.”

Merlin squirmed uncomfortably, not happy with the knowledge that Arthur had risked so much for him. Arthur seemed determined not to let his father’s pointed comments bother him, though; he set his jaw and stared resolutely ahead, refusing to apologise or to justify his actions.

“Commander Briac has been stripped of his rank and dismissed in disgrace,” Peyton said. “I believe Cenred views the- incident- as an embarrassment and places the blame solely on Briac’s shoulders. Rumours suggest that Briac has left Essetir…”

Peyton had more to say, but a sudden surge of nausea doubled Merlin over. It had to be a side-effect of his excessive alcohol consumption last night. Merlin tried to breathe through it, struggling to stand up straight again. He knew from experience that Uther did not appreciate disruptions to the court and Merlin had no desire to be put in the stocks again, to be shackled again, to have the weight of that wooden beam bearing down on his neck, trapping him in place so he couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t do anything but scream as the collar set every nerve on fire and all he could hear was Briac laughing…

“-erlin. Merlin! Merlin, come on, snap out of it. Merlin!”

Something was tight around his chest, constricting, choking him. He tried to suck air into his lungs but he couldn’t. His heartrate accelerated, pounding loudly, frantically in his ears. He kicked and thrashed, trying to escape his restraints. He couldn’t breathe.

“Merlin, stop. It’s just me, you’re okay. I’ve got you, just calm down.”

He knew that voice.

“Come on, Merlin, please. You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re home, remember?”

He latched onto that word. Home. He knew what that meant. Not Ealdor, not anymore. But Camelot. Arthur. _Home._

A ragged gasp gave him a taste of sweet oxygen.

“That’s it, Merlin, just keep breathing, a little at a time. I’m here, you’re safe.”

Merlin drew in another breath. It was shaky, but it wasn’t raw. His throat didn’t hurt. The collar wasn’t hot. He hadn’t been screaming.

There was a gentle rise and fall behind him and he tried to match the steady rhythm.

“That’s the way, just breathe with me. You’re doing fine.”

Merlin gradually became aware that there were strong arms wrapped around him and a solid weight at his back. Not hurting, just there, supporting him, keeping him grounded.

“Ar-thur?”

A sigh of relief. “Yes, Merlin, it’s Arthur. Are you back with me?”

“I – think so?” Merlin’s heart was still going a mile a minute, but he was aware of the feeling of cold stone beneath him and the distant sound of Uther’s court in session. He opened his eyes to find that they were in an otherwise deserted corridor, tucked into an alcove for some privacy. He felt shaky, like he had just spent the past two hours running from bandits. “What… what happened?”

“You scared me.” The words were blunt and honest in a way that Merlin had rarely heard from Arthur before. He twisted to look at him and Arthur loosened his grip to allow the movement. “Don’t do that again,” he said sternly, but his tone was bellied by the concern on his face.

“I’ll never touch another drop,” Merlin promised. His head was hurting worse than ever and his stomach was a mess of knots.

Arthur grimaced. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the wine is to blame for this.”

“Then what…?”

Arthur reflexively tightened his grip again, apparently unaware that he was, for all intents and purposes, hugging his manservant. When he spoke, his voice was exceedingly gentle. “Peyton was talking about the man who hurt you.”

Merlin’s mouth went dry. “Oh. Right.” Briac. Briac, who wasn’t Commander anymore and therefore wouldn’t be marching an army into Camelot any time soon. But he had left Essetir, which meant he could be anywhere. He could be on his way here now. He didn’t need an army, he just needed to steal the bracelet back from Arthur and then he would have control over Merlin’s collar again. Briac could hurt him again. Briac could break him again. Briac could take command of his magic and he could force Merlin to-

“Merlin. _Merlin, stop._ ” Arthur shook him, trying to break the spiral of thoughts. “He cannot reach you here.”

Merlin’s breaths were short and sharp, even as he tried consciously to regain control. “You- sure?”

“If he tried, he would be dead before he could lay so much as a finger on you. I swear it.”

“He wouldn’t attack me.” Merlin knew that much. Briac would go after Arthur first, and without his magic there would be nothing Merlin could do to stop him. Once Arthur was dead, Merlin would be at Briac’s mercy and there would be no reason to fight anymore.  
  


“I bested him once,” Arthur reminded him. “I cut off his hand, remember? He’ll be a poor fighter without it. Besides, the enemies of Camelot know better than to walk brazenly into the heart of the citadel.”

Merlin wished that were true, but Morgana was the most dangerous enemy they had, and she stood by the King’s side as his loving ward while he remained none-the-wiser.

Cenred may have given up his quest for Camelot, but Merlin was sure that Morgana and Morgause had not. He didn’t know what they were planning or what they were waiting for, but he knew one thing for sure. Danger was coming, and his magic would not be there to meet it.

“I’m scared, Arthur,” Merlin admitted. He used to worry all the time – about Arthur, about the kingdom, about being found out – but his magic had lent him a confidence and sense of security that he sorely missed. He didn’t like feeling this level of terror and helplessness. He was trying to be strong, to stick it out and somehow reach a day when things got better, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could cope. He had just freaked out in the middle of Uther’s court room, and that was at the mere mention of Briac’s name.

Without his magic, he was weak. Vulnerable. He couldn’t protect himself and, worse, he couldn’t protect Arthur.

He was scared, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me, Merlin.”

Merlin wanted to.

He looked into those sincere blue eyes, and he saw the strength that inspired loyalty from his knights and faith from his people. Arthur was a man destined to be King.

Merlin knew that he should feel safe here, hidden from the world and held securely in Arthur’s arms. Anyone else would.

He couldn’t, but for a few moments he let himself pretend.

ooOOoo


	12. Chapter Twelve

Merlin followed Arthur out onto the training fields, expecting to spend the day sharpening swords while the knights sparred. It was a familiar routine, and one he usually enjoyed. Using the whet-stone was second nature to him by now, so he was able to devote most of his attention to watching Arthur.

Merlin would never admit it out loud, but the way Arthur moved with a sword in his hand was mesmerising. He exhibited power with precision, speed with fluidity, strength with elegance. His technique was flawless. Even without magic, he always seemed to know what his opponent would do before they did. His sword was an extension of his arm, and every muscle in his body was perfectly in sync. When he was focused, there was an intensity about him that sent shivers down Merlin’s spine.

He hoped that Leon would train against Arthur today. He was one of the few knights who could offer a true challenge, and he brought out the best in Arthur.

But Leon wasn’t on the field when they arrived. In fact, the field was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Merlin asked. He peered up at the sky to check the position of the sun, thinking that maybe he had the time wrong.

“It’s just us today,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s spirits sank. He hated bearing the weight of that thick wooden shield while Arthur dealt blow after unforgiving blow. He ended up battered and bruised by the end of it, and personally he didn’t think the exercise did anything to improve Arthur’s fighting skills.

Arthur selected two swords from the rack, and Merlin wondered if he was going to experiment with wielding one in each hand. These weapons were not really designed for that sort of combat; they were too long and too heavy.

“Here,” Arthur said, handing one of the swords to him.

Merlin was nonplussed. “Do you want me to sharpen it first?”

“No. This is for you to use.”

Oh, no. Trying to spar with Arthur was even worse than bearing the shield. Arthur would attack him hard and fast, driving him backwards until he fell on his ass in the dirt, and then he would laugh at him. He usually chose this form of sparring if he had been the victim of too many barbed comments from Morgana or if he felt like he wasn’t living up to his father’s expectations of him. It was an ego boost at Merlin’s expense.

“Wouldn’t you rather spar with one of the knights?” Merlin tried.

“We’re not going to spar. Not yet, anyway.”

Merlin frowned. “I don’t understand. What are we doing out here if you’re not going to practice?”

“I’m not. You are.”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

“Congratulations, Merlin. You just made basic training.”

Merlin was certain that he must have heard wrong. “You want me to become a knight?”

“No, _Mer_ lin, don’t be an idiot. I’m just going to teach you how to use a sword so you can defend yourself if the need ever arises.”

The disbelief must have shown on his face, because Arthur flushed slightly and added, “I know that I should have taught you earlier. I’m sorry.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say. Arthur should not have taken an unarmed man into combat situations, but it had never bothered Merlin until he had been cut off from his magic. He supposed this was Arthur’s attempt at making amends. In all honesty, though, no amount of training could hope to replace the sense of security he had felt with his magic wrapped around him. He used to be able to sense danger, to feel attacks coming, to view events in slow motion and to respond with super-human reflexes. He used to be able to caused freak windstorms, drop branches, stop arrows dead in the air, hurl fallen spears, startle horses, call snakes to his aid, command the elements and even summon a dragon.

Arthur wanted to teach him how to use a metal stick.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

But with the collar around his neck, this metal stick was all he had.

Merlin gripped the hilt of his sword. “Where do we start?”

For a long moment, Arthur just stood there looking at him. The weight of his gaze made Merlin shift uncomfortably.

“You are no stranger to combat,” Arthur said at last. “But your approach to sword fighting is haphazard at best. I want you to forget everything that you think you know. We’re going to go back to the beginning.”

“Okay.”

Arthur embedded his sword tip into the ground and took Merlin’s from him to do the same.

“Our first priority is working on your balance and footwork.” Arthur circled him, examining him with a critical eye. “Widen your stance.”

Before Merlin could move, Arthur slipped his knee between Merlin’s legs and knocked them apart.

Merlin’s breath hitched. “W-what are you doing?”

Arthur placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and applied pressure. “Crouch down a little. You want to avoid locking your knees. Now take a step forward and lean into it, keeping your weight on the balls of your feet. Your lead knee should be pointing in the direction you intend to travel, and it should be positioned over the centre of your foot.”

Merlin tried to do as he was told, but Arthur’s proximity was distracting him.

Arthur nudged his shoulders. “Keep your back straight and your arms loose for now. We’ll get to guard positions later.”

“Arthur-”  
  
“Focus, Merlin. You need to be aware of your body. A solid stance is critical for both defence and offence.”

At the moment, Merlin was more aware of Arthur’s body. He was standing far closer than he needed to. His chest was scant inches away from Merlin’s own.

“Find your centre,” Arthur continued, moving his hands to Merlin’s hips. “Every move you make will begin here. Your core must be strong, yet flexible.”

Arthur’s touch seemed to be burning through Merlin’s clothes. He had seen Arthur train hundreds of men, but never like this. “Arthur, why are you-”

“I want you to retreat a step. Push with your lead foot, lift your back foot and step, then let your lead foot follow. You want the distance between them to remain at shoulder width.”

Merlin tried to do as instructed but Arthur tightened his grip to stop him as soon as he moved. “No. You don’t want to waste energy on upwards momentum. Stay low and step back.”

Merlin stepped, expecting Arthur to tell him he was doing it wrong.

“Good,” Arthur said. “Now do it again. This way you are giving ground but maintaining your balance.”

Merlin felt his hips shift beneath Arthur's hands as he did as he was told. He didn’t understand why Arthur felt the need to hold onto him, but maybe he thought Merlin was so clumsy he couldn’t take a simple step without falling over.

“The same principle applies with an advancing step, except you push with your back foot and step with your lead foot.”

Merlin stepped forward and Arthur moved back at the same time. Merlin's ears burned as he realised that, to a passing observer, they probably looked like they were dancing. He leaned away, trying to break the intimacy, but Arthur tugged him closer again.

“Keep your weight on the balls of your feet,” he admonished.

“I can do it on my own.”

“What?”

Merlin glanced pointedly at Arthur's hands.

Arthur’s cheeks coloured and he let go. “I want you to advance four steps, then retreat four. Back and forth. Start slow, then gradually increase your speed.”

Merlin looked down at his feet and concentrated on the instructions he had been given, not wanting to mess it up.

“Eyes on me,” Arthur said. “You have to watch what your opponent is doing.”

Merlin met Arthur's gaze. It was strange to know that he had Arthur's complete and undivided attention.

He went through the drill and was surprised to find that he felt steadier, even when moving quickly across the grass. He didn’t trip over once and when Arthur finally held up a hand to stop him, he nodded with approval.

For the next hour, Arthur ran through a dozen different steps with him. He explained what they were used for and described circumstances where they would be useful. Then he introduced obstacles to the field – rocks, pieces of armour, dropped weapons, puddles of water, logs and anything else he could find.

“You need to be aware of your surroundings,” he said. “Your opponent is looking for an opening to kill you, and you must not give him one. Don’t let him unbalance you, and don’t help him by tripping over on your own. If you hit the ground, you’re dead – unless you’re very fast, or very lucky.”

Merlin examined the field, trying to remember where everything was. In the past, he would have used his magic to keep track of his surroundings. Without it, he felt like he was underwater – his senses dulled, his movements slow and sluggish.

“We’re going to do the same drills again. Don't try to go too fast too soon.”

Merlin advanced without any trouble, but he felt uncertain moving backwards. He glanced behind-

A blow struck him in the crook of his left knee and he went down hard.

Before he knew what had happened, Arthur was straddling him and had a dagger at his throat. “I told you to keep your eyes on me.”

“Sorry,” Merlin wheezed, struggling to get his breath back.

Arthur moved off him and gave him a hand up. “Let’s try it again.”

Merlin nodded, but there was a pain in his side making the air stick in his lungs. He coughed, trying to dispel it.

Arthur frowned. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just – give me a minute.”

He half expected Arthur to ignore him and push on to the next exercise, but Arthur waited.

Merlin inhaled through his nose, willing the pain to recede.

“Your ribs,” Arthur said suddenly. He grasped Merlin’s shirt and tugged it out of his belt so he could lift it up.

“Hey-”

Arthur ignored his protest, running his fingers along the bones that still stood out prominently despite Gaius' nutritive potions. “I don’t think you have reinjured them, but it takes about six weeks for broken ribs to heal properly. We should take it easy.”

“I'm fine.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “You’re so thin, a strong wind could blow you over.” He ghosted a hand over Merlin's stomach. “I'm not feeding you enough. Our training sessions should help you gain muscle, but you'll need the nutrients to match. I'll make sure Haden brings up double portions of my meals in future.”

It was difficult to follow what Arthur was saying. Merlin was accustomed to helping Arthur in and out of his clothes, but having their positions reversed felt oddly compromising. Arthur didn’t seem to mind having his skin on display, probably because he had such a muscular physique. Merlin tugged his shirt out of Arthur’s grip and adjusted the fabric around his gaunt frame. “You said you were going to show me the guard positions.”

“Hoisting a heavy sword won't do your ribs any good.”

“So we'll use broom handles, like you did with Lancelot.”

“That’s... actually not a bad idea. Go and fetch some, would you?”

Merlin gave him a blank look. Arthur kept forgetting about the 30 paces.

“Oh. Right. I have to come with you.” Arthur blew out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t exactly ask you to clean this lot up either, can I? Come on, then. We'll head back to the castle, find someone to reset the field and grab a couple of brooms. If we shift the table, we should have enough space to practice in my quarters.”

Merlin felt guilty for leaving the mess they had made for another servant to deal with. He was supposed to be Arthur's manservant, but he was hardly earning his keep. Worse, the time Arthur spent training him should be devoted to his duties as Crown Prince.

“Arthur... I don’t think I’m worth all this trouble.”

“You just asked me to teach you the guard positions.”

Merlin winced. “I know. But I shouldn’t have. I'm just a servant, and servants are not supposed to get combat training.”

“Technically, they are not supposed to come out on patrols, either. You, Merlin, are the exception to every rule.”

“You’re bending over backwards to accommodate me. I appreciate it, but-”

“Merlin, you’re forgetting something about our relationship. I’m the one in charge, which means I’m the one who makes the decisions.”

“Being tethered to me is causing you no end of problems. You should just send me away, save yourself the hassle.” For the briefest moment, Merlin almost wished he would.

Arthur grasped his arms and looked him square in the eyes. “Here’s what it boils down to. I want you here, and I want you safe. I will do whatever it takes to make this work.”

Merlin swallowed. A part of him still wanted to rail against the collar and its restrictions, but he could see that Arthur truly believed that this was their only option. Everything he was doing was born out of the desire to protect him, and Merlin couldn’t hate him for that. But he couldn’t be okay with it, either.

He knew how badly Arthur wanted their relationship to get back to normal. But no matter what he did, the fact of the matter remained – the collar held Merlin prisoner, and Arthur was his captor. The balance between them was gone, and their destiny was crumbling.

They couldn’t live like this forever. Something, or someone, would break eventually.

“Training it is, then,” Merlin said. It was only half of a solution to one small problem, but it was all they had to work with at the moment.

He followed Arthur back to the castle and they trained until Haden brought in the mid-day meal. Soon afterwards, Arthur's responsibilities came calling and he had to return to court. As always, Merlin followed him.

Training became a part of their daily routine. Arthur woke them an hour earlier than usual and guided Merlin through his drills. As he gained competency, Arthur introduced new concepts and increased the level of difficulty. Over the course of a few weeks, Merlin moved from guard positions to striking and defending. Once Gaius gave his ribs a clean bill of health, Arthur decided it was time to train with a dulled sword and commissioned a suit of armour for him.

They came back from hearing petitioners one afternoon to find that Merlin's armour was laid out on the table, waiting for him.

Arthur clapped his hands together, a delighted grin spreading across his face. “They finished it earlier than I expected!”

Merlin stared at the exquisitely crafted pieces. “These were made by the royal blacksmith.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t trust the job to anyone else.”

“I could never afford these. I'll still be paying them off when I'm eighty!”

Arthur waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re yours. Come on, now, let's see how they look. Grab one of my padded jackets from the cupboard and we'll get you into that first.”

At a loss for what to say, Merlin just did as he was told. He chose the oldest of Arthur's jackets and began shrugging into it, only to have Arthur snatch it off him and toss it onto the floor.

“That one is far too worn. Here, try this.” He selected the newest instead, and manhandled Merlin into it. “It’s a bit big, but we can get it tailored.” He laced up the jacket and then pulled Merlin back over to the table. “Arms up.”

“You’re not going to-”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin realised that there was no point in arguing. Arthur was determined to ignore all of the conventions, and nothing Merlin said about servants and princes and propriety was going to stop him. He raised his arms and allowed Arthur to slip the chainmail over his head.

The last time that Arthur had helped him into armour was in Ealdor.

The same memory must have flitted through Arthur's head, because halfway through fastening a belt around Merlin's waist, Arthur froze.

“Your friend wasn’t the one who conjured the wind.”

Merlin exhaled. His life had been a tangled web of lies for a long time. Even though Arthur had found out about his magic, there was still so much he didn’t know. “I didn’t have a choice. We weren’t going to win that fight.”

“You used magic right in front of me.”

“I was protecting my home. My mother. The people I grew up with.” _And you,_ Merlin added silently.

“You wanted to tell me, didn’t you?”

He did, more than anything. Using his magic that day, knowing that Arthur would see and believing that the moment of truth was upon him – it had felt like a burden was lifting. Whatever the outcome, he wouldn’t be living a lie any longer. Only, it hadn’t turned out that way. “I couldn’t. You would have left me there.”

Arthur's brow creased. “Your friend lied for you.”

The grief was an old wound, but it still hurt. “Will swore to protect my secret. He knew that I wanted to go back with you, and he made sure I could.”

Arthur's gaze flicked to Merlin's neckerchief. “So did I.”

Merlin wanted to scream that it wasn’t the same. Will had ensured his freedom with his dying breath. Arthur had shackled him. But Merlin quashed the frustration and held his tongue.

Arthur finished securing the belt and retrieved the next piece of armour. He swatted Merlin’s hands away when he attempted to help and did all of the buckles up himself.

Merlin found he had to shift to a more secure stance to accommodate the additional weight of the armour. Arthur's mouth quirked into a smile when he noticed.

“You’re getting good at that. Whatever happened to the clumsy manservant who specialised in tripping over his own feet?”

“I still might,” Merlin warned. “This stuff is heavy.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “You’ll get used to it.” He tightened the last gauntlet and moved around him, checking that everything was secured and fitted correctly. Finally, he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Merlin spread his hands, waiting for Arthur’s verdict. “Well?” He was expecting Arthur to say that he looked ridiculous or make some other remark to that effect. Even though the suit had been made for him, Merlin still felt gawky, like a child playing at being a soldier.

Arthur blinked, and then gave him another once-over.

“You look good.” He sounded surprised.

Merlin was surprised, too. “Was - that a compliment?”

“No. Yes. Ah-” He ran his fingers through his hair, seeming at a loss for words.

Arthur was flustered.

Arthur didn’t _get_ flustered.

Except when he was attempting to express his feelings for someone he cared about.

Merlin's eyes widened as a possible explanation for Arthur's recent behaviour dawned on him.

His willingness to let Merlin stay in Camelot, despite the revelation of his magic. His fierce defence of Merlin when Caerleon had struck him. The drunken comments he had made after the feast. The vague, almost confessions from too many conversations to count. The comfort he had offered when Merlin had panicked in the court-room. His hands-on approach to training. The extravagant gift of the armour. And the way he was staring right now...

But it couldn’t be.

Arthur was the Prince of Camelot. Merlin was just a servant.

Of course, Gwen was a servant, and that hadn’t stopped Arthur from developing feelings for her, so maybe it was possible...

But no. Arthur liked Gwen. Therefore, he couldn’t like Merlin. Not that way.

Except, since Merlin had returned to Camelot, he had not seen Gwen and Arthur spend much time together. They exchanged pleasantries in the corridors and they talked whenever Gwen came to visit Merlin, but there was nothing to indicate that there was anything deeper than friendship between them. As one of their closest friends, Merlin probably would have been able to see the signs they hid from others, if there were any. But there were no private smiles or lingering touches. Arthur wasn’t trying to make awkward romantic gestures and he wasn’t sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet with her.

He spent all of his time with Merlin, and he didn’t seem to mind.

He should mind, though. Being in such close quarters should be driving Arthur mad. He should be frustrated and irritable and taking it out on Merlin. Instead, he was being – nice?

Why?

Arthur ran his tongue over the seam of his lips, and his gaze dropped to Merlin’s mouth. He took a step closer.

“Training!” Merlin blurted.

“What?”

“Now that I have armour, we can train properly. We should go train.”

Arthur frowned. “We trained this morning.”

“Yes, but you went to all the effort of getting me into this suit, we might as well make use of it, don’t you think?”

“Getting you out of it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Merlin's ears turned bright red. Arthur probably didn’t intend the double meaning, but maybe he did. Merlin didn’t want to find out. “I’m going to go train. Are you coming?”

He fled for the door without waiting for an answer.

“Hang on!”

Merlin didn’t want to wait. He heard Arthur scrambling for a few pieces of his own armour and nearly continued on without him, but halfway down the corridor the heating of his collar pulled him up short.

“Merlin, what has gotten into you?” Arthur demanded, grabbing Merlin's arm and spinning him around. He was out of breath and his hauberk was on backwards.

Merlin's heart was hammering in his ears. “I could ask you the same question.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Merlin wrenched out of his grip and backed up a step. “Nothing. It's nothing.”

“Merlin, if there’s something wrong, just tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Everything was wrong. Arthur and feelings and the collar and Arthur, spinning around and around in his head until he thought he'd be sick.

“Merlin-”

“I just want to train. Can we just train?”

Arthur’s blue eyes were filled to the brim with concern, but he backed off. “Okay. We'll train. But I think we should start with some breathing exercises.”

Merlin hadn’t even noticed the ragged gasps of air that he was gulping into his burning lungs. “Yeah,” he forced out. “Alright.”

ooOOoo


	13. Chapter 13

Merlin was avoiding him.

Arthur didn’t know how it was possible. The restrictions of the collar meant they had to be within 30 paces of each other. It wasn’t a huge distance, but Merlin was stretching it to the limit with every opportunity he got.

When they were in the Great Hall, Merlin would take up a post at the doors. When Arthur was dining with the King, Merlin kept to the shadows and only came forward to top up their drinks before melting into the background again. When they were out on patrol, Merlin rode at the back of their formation. When Arthur was in his chambers, Merlin would either busy himself with cleaning or retreat to his room.

Even in those moments when Merlin’s duties brought him into closer proximity, such as helping Arthur put on his armour, Merlin still felt miles away. He was professional and efficient and unbearably quiet.

Arthur couldn’t stand it.

He tried making jokes to break the tension. Merlin gave a dutiful chuckle, but the humour never reached his eyes.

He tried giving Merlin a good-natured punch to the arm. He knew it didn’t hurt him – it was barely more than a tap and his knuckles glanced off firm, lean muscle. Arthur blinked in surprise and found his gaze drawn to the fabric that had pulled tight around Merlin’s bicep. Merlin was filling out, getting stronger. It had to be a result of all the training they had been doing. Arthur wondered how he would look in a tunic actually tailored to fit him, but was startled from his musings by a pointed cough from the man in question. He looked up just in time to see a frown on Merlin’s face, before he schooled his expression and began running through Arthur’s schedule for the afternoon.

Arthur tried squeezing Merlin’s shoulder, in a friendly, casual way that had the unintended side benefit of confirming just how much their sparring was doing for him. Not that the awkward, gangly look hadn’t been endearing, but lean and toned was... Uh. Distracting. Until Merlin shrugged out of his grip and backed away a step.

He set aside their swords during their next session and tried hand-to-hand combat instead. He figured wrestling could turn into roughhousing and the thrum of the battle high pulsing through their veins could bring back some of the playfulness that was painfully absent from their recent interactions. But Merlin had learned his lessons well – he was swift, sure-footed and impossible to pin down. Arthur became increasingly frustrated and had to call a halt to the match before he took things too far.

He offered Merlin wine at their evening meal, hoping to loosen him up a little, but he politely declined.

Finally, at his wit's end, Arthur came right out and asked. Merlin’s response? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sire.”

By the way that he refused to meet Arthur’s gaze and chose to retire to bed early, citing their morning patrol as his excuse, Arthur knew he was lying. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it.

Arthur was in a foul mood the next day, and soon Merlin wasn’t the only one giving him a wide berth. Leon dared to ask if there was something bothering him, and it took every ounce of Arthur’s self control not to bite his head off. “I’m fine,” he gritted out, tightening the saddle straps with more force than necessary. Hroegen snorted her displeasure and Arthur patted her flank in unspoken apology. Neither of them was to blame for the fact that Merlin refused to tell him what he had done wrong.

“Mount up,” he ordered, taking his position at the front and trying to ignore the quiet words Leon exchanged with his manservant.

“What happened?” the knight asked.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, pleading ignorance for the second time in as many days. It was infuriating, because Merlin was the only one who _did_ know and Arthur had no idea how to fix it if Merlin wasn’t going to at least give him a clue about what he had broken. “He must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Arthur hadn’t woken up at all. Sleep had eluded him despite his best efforts. He tossed and turned for most of the night until he finally gave it up as a lost cause and got up to finish some reports for his father. He hadn’t even managed to do that, though, because his thoughts kept drifting to the man in the adjoining room.

He had missed Merlin every day that he had been gone. He thought that finding him would ease the ache in his chest, but since Merlin’s return it had grown steadily worse. Even when Merlin was standing right next to him, Arthur found it just wasn’t enough. Arthur _craved_ him. He craved Merlin’s smile, his laugh, the warmth of his teasing, the touch of his hand. He craved Merlin’s attention, his admiration, his affection.

If he was honest with himself, he craved a lot more than that. In the darkest hours before dawn, he had wondered if he would be able to sleep easier with Merlin curled up at his side. Until that moment, he had not consciously realised what he wanted his relationship with Merlin to be. But there was no coming back from that revelation.

Try as he might, Arthur could not convince his heart to see reason. It didn’t seem to matter that Arthur was a future King and Merlin was a servant. He didn’t care that they were both men. He wasn’t dissuaded by the promise of his father’s wrath if he ever found out. He wasn’t even bothered by Merlin’s magic.

He only knew that life without Merlin wasn’t worth living. He wanted Merlin to be by his side, forever and always. And he wanted Merlin to want him in return.

But Merlin was still avoiding him. Arthur’s sleepless night had brought on a potentially life-changing epiphany, and Merlin was completely unaffected. His morning greeting had sounded flat, he had barely spoken a word during breakfast, and his attention was somewhere far away even as he strapped Arthur into his armour. Merlin stubbornly donned his own armour unaided, refusing Arthur’s offer to help him. When Arthur attempted to open a conversation, Merlin interrupted with a reminder that they were going to be late for patrol and led the way out the door.

Arthur couldn’t help but feel that he had already been rejected, before he had even had the chance to broach the subject. The weight of unspoken words settled like a sickness in the pit of his stomach and his chest ached worse than ever.

His mind, usually sharp and attentive when he was on patrol, was swamped by thoughts of Merlin. Arthur let his horse lead the way, too busy trying to work out where everything had gone wrong and what he could do to put things to rights.

His awareness of his surroundings was limited to the path before him and the trees to either side. He didn’t notice how quiet the forest was, or the shadows that slipped silently closer. He didn’t notice as Hroegen slowed and tension thickened in the air.

“ _Sire_ -”

A lance of fire through his shoulder brought him suddenly, sharply, back to reality.

Pain and shock flooded his system. Wide-eyed, he stared down at the blood blooming across his chest. The arrow had pierced straight through his chainmail.

“Arthur!”

Chaos erupted around him. Attackers streamed from the trees, screaming battle cries. His horse reared and Arthur had to grip hard with his knees to avoid being thrown. Metal screeched as swords were drawn and his knights wheeled around to meet the threat head-on. The clamour and clash of close-quarters combat was deafening. Arthur struggled to pull his own weapon free of its scabbard. His movements were clumsy. Spots danced before his eyes, hampering his vision, and trying to swat them away sent agony ripping down his arm.

He was hit. Hurt. It _hurt_. But it wasn’t important. Something was more important. The fight. His men. His Merlin.

Merlin!

Cold morning air seared his lungs as he gasped a breath. He twisted in the saddle and almost blacked out from the pain, but he had to find Merlin. He had promised to protect him.

He was searching for a blue tunic and red neckerchief, heedless of any danger to himself. It took long moments for him to realise that the knight fighting his way towards him, fierce and furious, was not a knight at all but his manservant wearing armour smithed for royalty. Merlin could be royalty. His power and authority were understated, but undeniable once you knew him well. Arthur liked the idea of giving him a crown.

“-thur! Arthur!” Merlin was closer now, cutting an impressive swath through the men who dared to stand in his way. His eyes were wild. Arthur knew fear when he saw it; Merlin was terrified. Arthur reached out for him, wanting to comfort him somehow.

He lost his balance.

The ground rushed up towards him and they collided with a sickening crunch.

He didn’t even have enough air to scream, but someone else was screaming. Merlin, that was Merlin’s voice. Arthur hated to hear him sound like that. He wanted to go to him, to make it better, but he couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe.

But Merlin came to him, instead. Arthur blinked and suddenly he was there, kneeling beside him, pressing a hand against the wound in his shoulder to stem the flow of blood.

He was saying something, low and frantic. Arthur strained to listen to him.

“-give it back to me, Arthur, you have to give it back- release me, or just, just let me use it this once- just this time, Arthur please, you have to let me- you’re bleeding, Arthur, I can’t- I can’t lose you- Arthur, please…”

Arthur latched onto those few key words. _‘I can’t lose you’_.

He wondered if that meant what he thought it did. He hoped so. A stupid grin spread across his face at the possibility that Merlin might return his feelings after all.

“-Arthur, listen to me,” Merlin said urgently. “You need to give me back my magic.”

The taboo word was an unpleasant jolt to his system.

Magic was forbidden. Magic would get Merlin killed.

“I can’t lose you,” Arthur said, surprised by his own coherence.

Then he passed out.

ooOOoo

Merlin watched in horror as Arthur’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body fell limp. He could still feel a heartbeat beneath his hands, but it was a small comfort when those same hands were coated in Arthur’s blood.

Merlin instinctively reached for his magic, but all he felt was a crippling void inside him where his power should have been. He was still cut off from it. Arthur hadn’t released him from the collar. He hadn’t trusted Merlin enough to allow the use of his magic, not even when his life was at stake.

Tears burned in the corners of his eyes as the feeling of utter helplessness threatened to crush him.

This was his fault. He was supposed to keep his magic a secret. No one was supposed to know who he was or what he could do. Arthur’s life depended on his ability to operate within the shadows, and that was not a responsibility he took lightly. But he had made a stupid mistake in the spur of the moment, revealing his secret to Jarl of all people, and a combination of errors had led him to this moment. Arthur was paying the price for his failure, his life bleeding out between Merlin’s fingers.

The fight swirled around him, but Merlin had to trust that the knights would handle it. He couldn’t let Arthur go, even if it was naïve to think that he could keep him alive through sheer force of will.

If Arthur died, Merlin would never forgive himself. It couldn’t end like this, not after everything they had been through, not when there was so much left for them to do. Not while there was this awful tension between them. Guilt was twisting in his gut for the way he had treated Arthur recently, even as rage burned hot and bright within him at the thought of the collar and everything it represented.

He could be healing Arthur right now. In fact, he could have deflected the arrow. He could have sensed the attack before it happened. He could have done his job and protected the future King of Albion. What was the point of prophecy and magic and being two sides of the same coin if Merlin was going to be shackled and Arthur was going to be murdered right in front of him?

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Merlin growled, pressing harder against Arthur’s wound. The chainmail had slowed the arrow and he had yanked out the tip without causing further damage, but the shoulder was still bleeding liberally.

“We need to get him to Gaius,” Leon said.

Merlin startled. He hadn’t realised that the battle was over but when he looked around, he saw that the trail was littered with the bodies of their attackers. A knight was also among the fallen, his red cloak stained an even darker crimson.

Leon followed his gaze. “Sir Rowan,” he said sombrely.

Merlin winced. Someone else he could have saved, if it wasn’t for the collar around his neck. There was nothing that could be done for him now. They would return his body to Camelot and prepare a funeral pyre for him.

Merlin could only hope that a second pyre would not be necessary before the day was through.

“Strip the prince of his armour,” he said. Leon’s evident confusion prompted him to explain, “The damage is already done and it’s too heavy. Hroegen can carry both of us, she’s done it before, but the armour will weigh her down and speed is of the essence.”

Leon didn’t hesitate. His movements were swift and sure as he removed what he could without risk of reopening the wound. When he was finished, Merlin instructed him to apply pressure to the wound in his place. Letting go was difficult, but Merlin did what he had to. Ignoring the shaking in his hands, he wiped the blood off on Arthur’s cloak and tore strips from the bottom to use as make-shift bandages. He wrapped one bandage around his hand and used it as a gauze pad, then secured it with a longer strip wrapped around his shoulder, pulled tight and tied off. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do in the field.

Merlin made quick work of his own armour as Leon carefully lifted Arthur onto the back of his horse. Merlin clambered up after him and slid an arm around his waist to hold him firmly against his chest. Arthur’s head lolled against his neck. His face was far too pale, but Merlin couldn’t think about that.

“Make haste, Merlin,” Leon said. “We will be right behind you.”

Merlin knew it was an act of extraordinary faith that Leon would put the life of his prince in the hands of a servant. It was not the first time that Leon had shown such trust in him, and he was both grateful and humbled by it. He silently swore that he would not let the knight down.

He spurred Hroegen into a gallop. His heart thundered in time with her hooves as dust flew behind them. He hugged Arthur closer and prayed to any gods that might be listening that he wouldn’t be too late.

ooOOoo


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur drifted in and out. He was aware of very little beyond vague flashes of disjointed voices and sensations. Jolting movement beneath him, flares of fire through his shoulder, a comforting band of warmth around his middle, a low murmur from lips pressed against his ear. The clatter of hooves in the courtyard, people yelling, a nauseating swoop in his stomach as his world tilted. Firm pressure against his back, the cloying smell of blood tempered by the scent of herbs. A flash of light when his eyelid was peeled open and immense relief when darkness returned. A raging inferno burning through him, something tacky and warm pressing against his wound, cool dampness swiping across his forehead. Gentle fingers carding through his hair. A hand curling into his own.

Pain made him restless, but the familiar cadence of Merlin’s voice soothed him to sleep.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he regained consciousness. He had to blink a few times but eventually the haze cleared and his surroundings came into focus. He recognised the canopy over his head and the covers that were tucked in around him. He knew he would have been taken to Gaius first, but at some point he had been moved back to his chambers. He began to roll over, only to feel a sharp twinge of protest from his shoulder.

“Don’t do that.”

Merlin’s face appeared above him, pinched with exhaustion and concern but visibly relieved as well.

Arthur quirked a fond smile. “Knew you’d be here,” he croaked.

Usually Merlin would say something sappy but heartfelt in return. ‘Always’ or ‘Where else would I be?’ or ‘My place is by your side’.

“Let’s get you up,” Merlin said. Careful not to jostle Arthur’s injury, he helped to manoeuvre him into a sitting position against a stack of pillows. “Drink this first, and then we can wash it down with some water.” He raised a goblet filled with a thick murky substance that looked highly questionable but was no doubt a potion prescribed by Gaius. Arthur swallowed it without complaint, although he couldn’t prevent his nose wrinkling in distaste at the texture. “Yes, I know, but it will help you feel better. Now this.” The cool water was far more refreshing and Arthur sipped it gratefully until Merlin pulled the cup away. “You don’t want to have too much at once.”

Arthur nodded, accustomed to the routine of recovery. His stomach churned at the influx of fluid, but it settled after a few moments. The throbbing in his shoulder began to ease and he exhaled. “How long was I out?”

“A few days. You developed a low-grade fever, but Gaius was able to stave off infection by washing out the wound thoroughly and applying a poultice. Barring any complications, and provided you don’t do anything stupid for the next week or so, you should heal.”

Arthur looked down at the bandages enveloping his shoulder. He couldn’t see any bleed-through. “Sounds like I got off lightly, all things considered.”

“You could have died,” Merlin bit out. There was a brittle edge to his tone and a rigidity to his movements as he adjusted the covers to make sure that Arthur was comfortable. “If we had been any further from the city, there would have been nothing I could do. _Nothing_.”

Warmth spread through him at the reminder of how much Merlin cared. “I’m alright.”

“This time. But what about the next time a bandit takes a shot at you? What about the next time you’re injured in battle? What about the next monster you face? What about the next assassin, the next traitor? How am I supposed to protect you?”

“You’re getting handy with that sword,” Arthur said, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

“A sword is less than _useless_ when it comes to saving your life,” Merlin snapped. “It didn’t stop the arrow, it can’t combat poison, and it might as well be a twig for all the good it will do against magic.”

“I can look after myself,” Arthur said.

“No, you can’t. You _can’t_. All your victories have filled you with false bravado. You think you’re invincible but you’re _not._ ”

“Your concern is touching, Merlin.” He added a hint of teasing to the words.

Merlin’s eyes flashed. “This isn’t concern. I am _furious_ with you. If you had died on that patrol it would have been your fault. I am the only reason you have lived this long, but you have effectively hobbled me. I am supposed to keep you safe and you have made that almost impossible! One of these days you are going to bleed to death in my arms and I swear, Arthur, I will never forgive you.” He was trembling with rage and didn’t even try to dash away the tears that threatened to spill over.

It took some effort, but Arthur shifted his good arm and laid his hand over Merlin’s. “I know this is difficult for you. But I would rather die than let you become another victim in my father’s war against sorcery.”

“If you release me from this collar, I can protect both of us. Please, Arthur.” His face was open and earnest, his words pleading.

But Arthur couldn’t do it. “It’s not an option. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Emotion vanished from his expression like a portcullis slamming closed. Merlin pulled his hand out of Arthur’s grasp. “Call me if you need anything, sire,” he said flatly. He retreated to his room and closed the door behind him, leaving Arthur alone.

ooOOoo

Gaius kept Arthur on bedrest for six more days, which meant that Merlin was also confined to his quarters. It was a tense week for both of them. Arthur kept trying to pull him into conversation, but Merlin would only say the bare minimum. He performed his duties with as much detachment as he could muster, keeping Arthur fed and hydrated, giving him his potions, changing his sheets and bedclothes each morning, sponging him clean with warm water, and tending his wound. It was healing well, and Gaius assured him that there was nothing to worry about.

Merlin wished that were true. But as Arthur’s strength returned, Merlin knew it was just a temporary reprieve. As soon as he left this room, he would once more be in harm’s way. It was inevitable that he would be hurt again. Someday, death would come for him and Merlin would be helpless to stop it.

The weight of his grief was dragging him down. His strength waned. He knew that Arthur was doing everything he could to make him smile, but he didn’t have the energy to pretend.

That day in Jarl’s stronghold, Merlin had failed in his destiny. He fought so hard to stay alive, to withstand the pain, to make it back to Arthur. He had refused to give up, refused to surrender, believing that his life was supposed to amount to more than dying at the hands of some brute. But the truth was, the great and mighty Emrys had died as soon as Jarl put that collar on him. He was useless to Arthur like this, and it could be weeks or months, or maybe even years if they were lucky, but eventually Arthur would pay the ultimate price.

His only comfort was the knowledge that when Arthur died, the collar would kill him, too.

It would be an excruciating way to go, but he didn’t care. Merlin had no interest in living without Arthur.

Not that his current existence felt much like living.

“It’s a fine day outside,” Arthur said.

Merlin cast a dispassionate glance towards the windows. Sunlight bathed the courtyard and there were only a few wisps of cloud in the sky. “You’re meant to be resting.”

Arthur swung his legs out of the bed and stood smoothly, with no sign of the dizziness that had assaulted him the first time he had tried it. “I think some fresh air would do both of us some good.” He slid out of his bedclothes, favouring his shoulder a bit but managing well enough on his own. “Fetch me some trousers, would you?”

There was nothing to be gained from arguing. Merlin opened the cupboard and tossed a pair of trousers to the prince before fishing out a tunic and belt as well. He waited for Arthur to ask for help but, in spite of the twinges of discomfort that crossed his face, he seemed determined to dress himself. He had to grit his teeth as he tightened the belt, and tying his bootlaces took twice as long as it usually would, but he grinned when he succeeded. “Come on, then, Merlin.”

Arthur was upbeat, practically bouncing towards the door.

Anxiety twisted in Merlin’s gut. But he couldn’t keep the prince locked up forever, even if it was for his own protection.

Merlin was on edge as they made their way through the castle, looking twice at every person they passed and twitching at every noise.

Arthur glanced back and his cheerful gait faltered. “Merlin? What’s the matter?”

When Merlin didn’t reply, Arthur dropped back to walk beside him. “Merlin, you’re being paranoid. No one is going to attack us within Camelot’s walls.”

Merlin refrained from pointing out that he knew of at least one traitor in the castle. Without proof, he knew that Arthur would never believe him about Morgana.

“Merlin-” Arthur snagged his sleeve, pulling him around to talk face to face. “Merlin.” There was a shadow of pain in his eyes, but it wasn’t from his shoulder. “I need you to be honest with me. Do you want to leave?”

Merlin swallowed. Once, he would have balked at the idea, but there was a part of him that wanted to get as far away from Camelot as he could. He hated waiting around for something or someone to take Arthur away from him. But if he left, he would lose Arthur anyway. “No, sire.”

“Then please, can you- can we find a way to make this work? I can’t keep going like this, and I don’t think you can, either.”

He could hear the distress in Arthur’s voice and it made his heart ache. But there was only one solution he could see, and Arthur had made it clear that he wasn’t going to remove the collar. “I don’t know what you want from me, sire.”

Arthur glanced down the hall and then grasped Merlin’s wrists to tug him into an alcove. “I just want you to be happy again. Like you used to be.”

“Things have changed, Arthur. I can’t be who I was. You won’t let me.”

“Merlin, this isn’t about- none of the things I love about you have anything to do with your magic.”

Merlin could only stare at him. He couldn’t believe Arthur had used that word, and from the look on his face, neither could Arthur. But he didn’t take it back. He did the exact opposite.

“I love your wit and your sense of humour and how irreverent you can be,” Arthur blurted. “The way you care about people, how hard you work, the way you’re not afraid to call me out when I’m being a prat and the ridiculous insults you come up with. You are courageous and loyal and you are always willing to lend a helping hand. You believe in me when I can’t believe in myself, and even on my darkest days you know how to make me laugh. Merlin, don’t you see? You are so much more than your magic. Even without it- especially without it- you’re already everything I need.”

Arthur wasn’t the kind of person to gush praise, and there was a time that hearing those words would have sent Merlin into transports of joy. All he had ever wanted was to be appreciated and valued for who he was. Since arriving in Camelot, it had become less about gaining recognition in general and more about wanting Arthur in particular to know and accept him. If he was honest, he had daydreamed about how their relationship could change once there were no more lies keeping them apart. But Merlin and his magic were supposed to be a package deal, and Arthur had rejected that part of him. In doing so, he had inflicted a level of hurt far beyond anything Merlin had suffered at Briac's hand. Merlin might have been able to live with it, if he didn’t know with absolute certainty that the containment of his magic was going to have dire consequences. “What you need is protection.”

“I have knights for that. I have hundreds of knights, Merlin, but there is only one you.” Arthur took a step closer. Their breath mingled and Merlin could feel the warmth radiating between them. “I searched the five kingdoms for you. I fought slavers for you. In the year that you were gone, I began to realise what you meant to me. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to tell you-”

“Arthur, stop.”

Arthur’s thumbs rubbed gentle circles on the skin of his wrists. “I know it’s scary,” he murmured. “I was scared, too. But I think… I think we could find a way to be happy. We already spend all of our time together, no one would suspect us.”

“Arthur-”

“I know you’re attracted to me.”

Merlin didn’t realise he was retreating until his back hit the wall and the long, powerful lines of Arthur’s body were pressed against him. In the slightest movement, Arthur rocked his hips forward and an involuntary gasp escaped Merlin’s lips.

Arthur’s voice dropped an octave. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m running drills on the training field. I’ve felt the way your fingers tremble when you’re helping me get undressed. I’ve heard you bite back a curse when you’re listening to me pleasure myself in the bathtub. I have always liked the attention. Now I’m telling you that I want more.”

Arthur’s scent curled in the air, heady and strong and alluring. Merlin swayed towards him, caught up in a haze of desire. “Arthur...”

Arthur leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I can make it feel like magic.”

The word was like a bucket of water to the face. It shocked Merlin back to his senses. “No!” Merlin broke his hold and shoved him.

Startled, Arthur stumbled back. “I don’t understand,” he said, sounding truly bewildered.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” Merlin snapped. “What you’re still doing to me. And I can’t explain it to you.”

“But you stayed. Everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve risked- I know you have feelings for me. I know we could be something more.”

“My feelings don’t matter. With the way things are right now, nothing can happen between us.”

“If this is about my father-”

“This is about you! The very fact that you can’t see what is so completely wrong about what you’re suggesting proves that you are not the man I thought you were, and maybe you never will be.”

Merlin pushed past him and stormed down the hall. Heat began emanating from the collar but he ignored the warning. He was at the top of the stairs when the first stab of pain shot through him. For one terrible moment, filled with rage and unwanted arousal and a crushing sense of loss, he considered throwing himself down the steps. The agony from the collar would drown out the sensation of bones shattering, and maybe at the bottom he would find an end to all of this.

But the pain faded and the collar cooled. He heard rapid footsteps approaching behind him.

“Don’t,” Arthur rasped. “I’ll give you space, you can go for a walk if you want and I’ll follow at a distance, just please don’t hurt yourself.”

Merlin tensed, but Arthur didn’t try to touch him and he didn’t come any closer.

“Fine,” Merlin muttered.

He walked for an hour, weaving through the market place and lower town where he hoped no one would notice that Arthur was shadowing him. When the collar started to pull him up more and more frequently, he realised that Arthur’s strength was flagging. This was his first outing after his injury. He shouldn’t be exerting himself.

Trying not to feel guilty, Merlin returned to the castle at a sedate pace and slipped into his room. When he peeked into Arthur’s chambers a few minutes later, Arthur was fast asleep on top of the covers.

Merlin sighed. He went over to remove Arthur’s boots and settled him more comfortably on the bed, folding the covers over him so he wouldn’t get cold.

He brushed a few strands of hair off Arthur’s forehead. “I wish I could have said yes,” he admitted quietly.

But the reality of the collar made it impossible.

ooOOoo


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Arthur knew he should respect Merlin’s decision. It was probably the right one. If he'd thought Uther would be angry about his relationship with Gwen, it was nothing compared to how he would respond if he found out Arthur was in love with his manservant.

It wasn’t uncommon for a nobleman to tumble a stable boy into the hay, or for a knight to have a dalliance with his squire. It wasn’t even uncommon for members of a royal household to bed the help. But Arthur didn’t just want a roll in the sheets. He wanted to be with Merlin in every sense of the word.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter what he wanted. Arthur was the future King of Camelot. He needed a queen.

Merlin’s rejection had stung, but he could see why it was necessary. Arthur had recklessly allowed his heart to guide him, and Merlin had been forced to make the cold, rational choice.

The logical thing to do now would be to put the entire incident behind him and bury his feelings so deep that they would never again see the light of day.

Arthur couldn’t do it. His years of denial had come to an abrupt and decisive end. He had not only acknowledged how he felt, he had admitted it out loud to the object of his affections. He couldn’t go back.

Maybe, if his feelings were not reciprocated, he could have found a way to move on.

But he knew Merlin loved him. He had known from the moment Merlin drank the goblet of poison that was meant for him. There were men who would lay down their lives for king and country, but Merlin was from Essetir and owed Camelot no true loyalty. He didn’t have to be a servant, but he served Arthur anyway. He had done the honourable thing when he warned them about the poison, yet Uther had seen fit to punish him for it. Anyone else would have backed down, but Merlin refused, even though he knew that his efforts to preserve Arthur’s life would doom his own. He had looked Arthur in the eye as he drank from the goblet, and Arthur had known.

No one had ever looked at him that way before. As though he was worth more than all the gold in the five kingdoms, as though he was someone to be cherished and protected above all else. As though dying for him was not a chore or a duty, but a privilege.

It was the first time Arthur had witnessed such raw devotion in Merlin’s eyes, but it was far from the last. Wherever Arthur went, and whatever threats he faced, Merlin was always right there by his side, bold, determined and immoveable. Others were sworn to fight for Arthur but, although Merlin was bound by no such oath, he was the most loyal of them all.

His return to Camelot after Briac’s fortress was the final proof. Merlin gave up everything – his freedom, his magic, even his happiness – to come home with Arthur. He would not leave him, even though staying was making him miserable.

Arthur couldn’t pretend to understand it, but he thought it was rather similar to how he himself could not turn aside from his feelings for Merlin. He was a peasant, a servant, a _sorcerer,_ and loving him was folly. It was causing him pain, and grief, and it could come to no good end, but Arthur loved him anyway. He couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to stop.

Because Merlin was also his light, his laughter, his hope. Arthur wouldn’t be the man he was today if not for the trust, the friendship and the love that Merlin had given him. Someday Arthur would be King, and he wanted Merlin to be by his side every step of the way.

There had to be something Arthur could do to set their relationship to rights. Something that could return Merlin’s smile to him.

Arthur wasn’t very good at romantic gestures, and he would usually go to Merlin for advice (although his ideas weren’t much better). But he was willing to try almost anything to win Merlin over.

He started with flowers. He asked Haden to bring some up with an early breakfast, and snuck into Merlin’s room to place them on his desk before he awoke.

“Up and at ‘em!” he called cheerily, echoing one of Merlin’s morning wake-up calls. He waited at the table, anticipation bubbling within him.

Merlin emerged, but instead of the pink-tinged cheeks that Arthur expected, he wore a frown. “Sire, what-”

“Join me,” Arthur invited, nudging out the chair on the opposite side of the table and waving a hand at the spread of food.

“I’m not hungry,” Merlin said.

“Come on, I’ve got all your favourites. The cook even made up a fresh batch of strawberry jam, and the bread is still warm.”

“Arthur-”

“ _Mer_ lin, stop worrying about your waistline and come have breakfast with me.”

The frown deepened, but Merlin did as he was bidden, sitting gingerly on the edge of his chair. Arthur slathered a generous amount of jam on a chunk of bread and handed it over, trying to show that this was not a meal between a servant and his master, but one they shared as equals.

Merlin thanked him politely, but nibbled slowly and without the enthusiasm he would normally show for such a rare treat.

Undeterred, Arthur plucked a grape from the bowl and held it up to Merlin’s lips. “Here, try one. They’re especially sweet this harvest.”

Merlin tried to take the grape by hand, but Arthur wouldn’t relinquish it. “Open up,” he insisted.

It took a moment, but Merlin relented and allowed Arthur to feed him. The brush of Merlin’s lips against his fingers sent a shiver down his spine.

“Another?” Arthur offered, his voice low. He leaned forward, hoping to chase the sweetness on Merlin’s tongue, but there was a loud scrape as Merlin pushed his chair back.

“Arthur, what are you doing?”

Arthur huffed a sigh. “Nothing.”

His next strategy was less direct. Merlin was a selfless person who cared more for others than himself, so rather than shower him with gifts, Arthur took a different approach. He acquired a new set of vials and a collection of rare herbs from a travelling apothecary for Gaius. He sent an unmarked rider with a small wagon of grain to Ealdor to boost their stores for the winter months, as well as a letter to Hunith assuring her that her son had recovered well. He checked up on the people he had liberated from enslavement and made sure that they wanted for nothing. He purchased wares from the marketplace, paying more than the asked price, and took time out of his day to play knights and dragons with the young children in the lower town.

Merlin seemed suspicious of his motives at first, but he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips when Arthur allowed a pack of determined six- and seven-year-olds to wrestle him to the ground.

Arthur hid his own grin as he realised he may have discovered Merlin’s weakness.

Under the guise of boosting the morale of Camelot’s citizens and commemorating a successful harvest, Arthur convinced his father to host a festival. Rather than holding an event that was exclusively for those of noble birth in the Great Hall of the castle, the celebration would take place in the courtyard and the streets of the city so everyone could attend.

“We had a harvest festival every year in Ealdor,” Merlin shared, a lightness in his voice that had been missing for too long. He held the ladder steady as Arthur balanced on the top, helping to hang streamers and garlands from the eaves of the houses. “Any other day of the year, we worked hard and rationed carefully. But the festival was a day of abundance and revelry. The women spent the morning cooking up a feast while the men hastened to get all the chores done. As soon as the sun reached its zenith, all work ceased. Everyone put on their best clothes and gathered in the town square. We drank freely, ate to excess and danced until the late hours of the night. When everything started to quiet down, the older folk would tell stories, and my mother... She would sing the most beautiful ballads.” Merlin's focus drifted as he became lost in memories of years past.

Arthur climbed down the ladder, shamelessly taking the opportunity to brush up against Merlin. “Will you be singing one of them for us?” he teased gently.

Merlin laughed, and Arthur’s heart soared. “No one wants to hear me sing, believe me. Besides, her ballads were always about forbidden love.”

Arthur swallowed, conscious of how close they were standing. “Sounds relatable.”

Merlin met his gaze and, in his eyes, Arthur thought he could see a reflection of his own feelings. But then Merlin stepped back, away from him, dragging the ladder to the next home.

Arthur withheld a sigh and continued the preparations. Hopefully the festival would lift Merlin's spirits. He just needed to relax and let loose a little. If he stopped thinking, stopped worrying for a while, he might actually manage to have a good time. _Arthur_ could show him a good time, if he was only given the chance.

ooOOoo

After what seemed like an eternity (two days, if the rotation of the sun could be trusted), the festival was finally upon them.

Arthur woke early, but he stayed in bed, waiting to hear movement from Merlin's room. The first thing Merlin always did was sweep open the curtains, and today Arthur was eager to see his reaction.

The door creaked and footsteps padded across the floor. Arthur peeked through slitted eyelids as Merlin reached for the drapes.

Sunlight spilled into the room, and Merlin gasped.

“Mm, Merlin?” Arthur mumbled, feigning a yawn.

“Arthur, it's- you have to see this.”

Arthur threw off his covers and joined Merlin by the window. The view was truly a sight to behold.

Camelot was bursting with colour.

It was a perfect sunny day with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze that set the decorations all a-flutter. The courtyard was teeming with people of every age and social standing. The women wore their best dresses, the men wore their finest coats, the girls wore their prettiest frocks and the lads wore their most handsome vests. The effect was rather like a living tapestry, weaving together before their eyes.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked. He was glad to see that his people seemed to be enjoying themselves, but he wanted Merlin to enjoy it most of all.

“It’s beautiful,” Merlin breathed, blue eyes bright. “Ealdor never looked like this.”

“It’s going to be a good day,” Arthur declared. He clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “Let’s get me dressed and then we can head down.”

Arthur didn’t linger on Merlin’s touch, too eager to join in with the festivities. As soon as his boots were on, he snagged Merlin’s wrist and tugged him out the door.

The view had been one thing, but stepping out into the courtyard was another experience entirely.

There were people everywhere, and the level of noise was incredible. It seemed the entire city had turned out for the event. Merlin was wide-eyed as he tried to take it all in, and Arthur was a bit in awe himself.

Tables of every shape and size were already overflowing with food, with more platters being added as each household made their contribution. Games drew people in with the promise of prizes and glory, and roars of approval met every competitor who stepped forward. Musicians played jaunty tunes, and jesters performed spectacles that delighted and amazed.

“Where would you like to start?” Arthur asked.

Merlin huffed a laugh. “I don’t know. I don’t think there is enough hours in the day to see everything.”

“We won’t know until we try. Come on, we’ll grab some food first.” Arthur led him over to the tables and made him sample a little of every dish until Merlin was groaning about how full his belly was.

Arthur chuckled. “We best work off some of it, then, hm? Or you’ll never have room for lunch.”

“Lunch? I doubt I’ll be hungry for a week!”

“A few rounds of hammer-throwing may change your tune.” Arthur took his arm and manoeuvred him through the crowd. A space had been cleared for the competition, and Arthur volunteered Merlin for the next round.

Despite all of his training with a sword, Merlin still could not throw to save his life. Arthur would have been doubled over laughing, except that there were beads of sweat trickling down Merlin’s face and a part of him wanted to chase them with his tongue.

Unsurprisingly, when the winner was announced it was not Merlin’s name they called.

“You know, Merlin, I would say that you throw like a girl, but even that young maiden threw her hammer further than yours,” Arthur observed. He sent a wink to the child in question, who flung back her hair proudly.

“This is not my game,” Merlin puffed.

Arthur knew that. Merlin was far more skilled at dice. “You’re absolutely right. To the archery range!”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but followed him anyway.

Arthur enjoyed watching Merlin’s arm muscles bunch and flex as he wielded his bow. He didn’t expect Merlin to be any better at this than he was at hammer throwing, so when his second arrow hit the target Arthur couldn’t contain his elated cry.

“I still lost,” Merlin pointed out, appearing somewhat bemused by Arthur’s praise.

Arthur simply enjoyed having his arm around Merlin’s shoulders without being shrugged off. “With a bit of training, you wouldn’t be a half-bad archer. Let’s see how you do with horse-shoes.”

For the rest of the morning, Arthur dragged Merlin around to every game available. It turned out that Merlin was terrible at horse-shoes, and fared no better with ring-toss, but he was remarkably proficient at marbles. The tug-of-war was hilarious, and Merlin’s attempts to walk on stilts was even more so.

By the time the roasted meats were brought out from the palace kitchens, Merlin admitted that he was indeed hungry again.

It was gratifying to see how much his appetite had improved since his return to Camelot. Arthur remembered how gaunt he had been as a slave, all skin and bone and bruises. He was so much healthier now, with his body filled out and a rosy glow to his cheeks.

After they were sure that they could not consume one bite more, they sought out the entertainers.

The jugglers were impressive, especially when they began throwing knives into the air and deftly catching them again without causing any damage to themselves or others. “I shudder to think what would happen if you tried that,” Arthur quipped, and Merlin shoved him.

The puppet show recreated some of Arthur’s more remarkable exploits, but it only earned a raised eyebrow from Merlin. “They make it look like you earned those victories all on your own.”

“Perks of being the prince,” Arthur said.

“As if there aren’t enough of those?”

“Your job isn’t without its own perks.” Arthur gestured to the stage. “Look, there’s a puppet of you, too.”

“Oh yes, very flattering,” Merlin replied dryly as the Merlin-puppet tripped over in the middle of the battle and had to be rescued by the Arthur-puppet.

Arthur chuckled. “Seems accurate to me.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur saw that his expression had soured and hurriedly pulled him away from the puppet show. He soon had Merlin distracted by acrobats performing death-defying stunts.

Merlin humoured him by attending a few of the informal jousting matches, so in return Arthur agreed to spend some time at the crafting stalls. It was embarrassing how inept Arthur was at pottery-making, his clay collapsing in on itself while Merlin sculpted a perfect pot. Arthur was similarly terrible at basket-weaving and floral arrangements, while Merlin excelled. Arthur did manage to knot together an intricate belt using leather straps, which he then gifted to Merlin.

As the sun began to slip towards the horizon, the torches and lanterns were lit. The tables were cleared away and the musicians gathered together in the centre of the courtyard. Music filled the air, cresting and falling like ocean waves. Arthur was content just to listen from the side-lines until he saw that Merlin’s foot was tapping to the beat.

“Would you care to dance?” Arthur asked him.

“Arthur, we can’t-”

“Everyone is dancing together,” he pointed out. Two concentric circles had formed, with partners coming together to dance for a few beats, then spinning apart and switching to the next person in the rotation. It was organised chaos, with lots of stumbling and laughing while the rhythm was somehow maintained.

“I have very little coordination, sire, I fear I would be a hazard to myself and those around me.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur argued, already leading him towards the fray. “We’ve been practicing your foot-work, remember?” He threw Merlin into the circle before he could protest, then took a deep breath and flung himself in as well.

It was a blur of movement and bodies and frantically trying to keep up with the pace, but Arthur treasured the moments he got to dance with Merlin before he was inevitably snatched away again.

Later, breathless and dizzy, they somehow managed to extract themselves from the dancers and went in search of ale.

Merlin downed a tankard, then accepted a refill and wandered off to find a place to sit. Arthur scooped up two more drinks before hurrying after him, glad that Merlin had seemingly forgotten about the collar and not wishing to remind him.

Finally, Merlin flopped onto a patch of grass and Arthur followed suit.

“What a day,” Merlin exhaled.

“A good day?” Arthur asked hopefully.

Merlin smiled at him. “A very good day.”

ooOOoo


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, please note. WARNINGS APPLY for this chapter.  
> I want to state plainly that drunkenness is *not* an excuse, nor do I condone Arthur's behaviour in any way. No is no.  
> Although it doesn't go beyond language and clothed intimate contact, and Merlin puts a stop to it, it is sexual assault and it is not okay. If that is a trigger for you, please skip to the end chapter notes and I will provide a brief summary.  
> Please take care of yourselves, and know that Arthur is going to get a sharp wake-up call.

Arthur and Merlin were both drunk when they finally stumbled their way back to Arthur's chambers. They clung to each other for balance, but still managed to collide with walls and pillars and one equally inebriated nobleman who just laughed and staggered on. It was a miracle that they didn’t get lost, and they did take several unnecessary detours, but eventually they found the right door.

It was locked, which was an appropriate safety measure but just seemed rude when Arthur wanted to get inside.

He nudged Merlin (or fell into him). “Open it, would you?”

“ _Aliese_ ,” Merlin muttered and tried the handle. He stared at it, dumbfounded when it didn’t respond to him.

“Not with magic, you idiot,” Arthur hissed, checking that no one was in the corridor to overhear them.

“Oh.” Merlin rummaged in his pockets and pulled out the key. It took a few attempts, but the door eventually permitted entry. Merlin locked it behind them and leaned back against it with a sigh. His eyelashes fluttered closed.

“You can’t sleep there,” Arthur said fondly.

“My bed is too far away,” Merlin grumbled.

“Mine isn’t.”

Merlin hummed but made no move to abandon his make-shift pillow.

Arthur slipped up next to him, inhaling the intoxicating scent of good food and good ale and _Merlin_. He let a hand settle on his waist and curled fingers into his hair. “Come to bed with me,” he breathed. His lips brushed Merlin’s ear and he had to nibble a little on the lobe.

Merlin made a small sound and Arthur took that as encouragement. He slipped his knee between Merlin’s legs and drew Merlin’s hips closer. They rocked together in an unhurried rhythm that matched the music still filtering in from outside. Arthur mouthed kisses along Merlin’s jaw and Merlin tipped his head back, granting Arthur access to the long column of his throat. Arthur gently unwound the ever-present neckerchief and cast it aside, ducking his head to press his lips against salty-sweet skin-

But he was met with cold metal instead.

He recoiled in shock and saw that Merlin’s eyes had flown wide.

“It’s fine,” Arthur said quickly, not wanting the mood to be lost. “I’d rather be kissing your mouth anyway.” He leaned in to do just that. It was the moment he had been dreaming of for so long, and he hoped it would be everything he had imagined.

But Merlin shoved him, hard.

Arthur barely caught himself before he fell. “ _Mer_ lin-”

“ _No!_ ” Merlin snapped. He was breathing heavily, hands balled into fists at his side.

“Forget the collar,” Arthur said. “It’s not important. _This_ is, this thing between you and I. I know you feel it, too. You want me, and I’m telling you that you can _have_ me. I’m right here, Merlin.”

“I can’t believe you think I would want to-”

“Of course you do. You can’t hide _that_.” He gestured to the obvious tent in Merlin’s breeches.

Merlin flushed, and Arthur wondered how far down it went. “It’s a physical reaction, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you want me.” It might have been the alcohol thickening his voice, but Arthur chose to believe that he sounded sultry and seductive. “You want to kiss me, to taste me. You want my hands on you, pinching, caressing, _stroking._ You want my mouth and my fingers. You want me inside of you.” Arthur’s own trousers were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. He cupped the bulge, drawing Merlin’s gaze. “I want you, too.”

“I’m not going to lie with you, Arthur.”

He felt frustration rise within him. “Why _not?_ Anyone else in the kingdom would kill for the chance to spend a night in my bed.”

“I’m not that desperate,” Merlin said scathingly.

Arthur stalked towards him and crowded him up against the door, pressing in so their bodies aligned and there could be no doubt of their mutual arousal. “I think you are.”

“Get off,” Merlin snarled.

“That’s the idea.” Arthur reached for him, wanting to give him a taste of the pleasure they could experience together.

“I said _no.”_ Merlin actually had the nerve to push him away.

This was getting ridiculous. _“Mer_ lin-”

“No!”

Annoyance flared through him. “If you would just stop being so damn stubborn-”

“You’re the one being obtuse! This is not going to happen, certainly not now and maybe not ever if you don’t get your head out of your ass-”

The anger hit its peak. All Arthur could think about was making Merlin _obey_ him, just this once, and then he would realise that this was what he wanted all along. They could stop this dance, put an end to all the pointless tension and arguing. They could be _happy_ , if Merlin would just _do as he was told._

A strange sensation shot through his arm. The ale had clouded his mind and dulled his reflexes. It took him too long to realise what it meant, and by then it was too late to stop it.

Merlin screamed as the bolt of pain struck him. He dropped to his knees, hands flying to his neck, clawing at the searing metal. He wouldn’t stop _screaming-_

“No, no, no, no-” Arthur yanked the bracelet off his wrist but that only made Merlin scream louder. He scrambled to put it back on and tried to picture it clearly in his mind. “Stop, stop it, stop hurting him, _stop!”_

Merlin collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut and blessed silence fell.

Arthur knelt beside him, lifting a shaking hand to check that Merlin was still breathing. Air puffed against his skin and he could have sobbed in relief. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Blue eyes flickered open. “Wh-what happened?”

Arthur gathered him into his arms, cradling him close as though he could protect him from the pain he should never have suffered. “I’m so sorry, Merlin, it was an accident, I swear. I could never hurt you, I don’t know what came over me-”

Merlin went rigid. “You used the collar.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

Merlin broke out of his hold and was across the room before Arthur could blink.

“No, Merlin, stay and talk to me, please, I’m sorry-”

Merlin slammed his bedroom door in Arthur’s face. There was a scraping sound and when he tried to follow Merlin, he found that something had been dragged in front of the door.

“Merlin, please, I’m begging you…”

He received no reply, and he knew he didn’t deserve one. But he needed Merlin to forgive him. He couldn’t live with himself if he had lost Merlin forever.

“I’m sorry,” he told the door. “I should never have lost control like that. I had too much to drink, I wasn’t thinking, I forgot myself, but I know that it is no excuse. It shouldn’t have happened, and I swear it will never happen again, you have to believe me…” Arthur kept talking until he ran out of words, and then he began repeating himself. He was still mumbling when he fell asleep on the floor.

When he next opened his eyes, Haden was standing over him.

“Sire, your presence was expected in the council chambers half an hour ago,” his servant said. He diplomatically avoided asking what he was doing sleeping on the stone tiles or why he was wearing yesterday’s clothes.

Arthur was unsteady as he climbed to his feet. His head was pounding and his stomach roiled with nausea, but the ache in his heart was far worse. A glance at Merlin’s door revealed that it was still firmly shut, and Arthur could not leave his chambers without him. He meant what he said – he was never going to hurt Merlin like that again.

“Please convey my apologies to the King, but I fear I have fallen ill and am unable to attend to my usual duties today.”

The slightest quirk to Haden’s eyebrow was the only sign that he saw through the transparent lie. “Would you like me to fetch a hangover potion from the court physician?”

“That won’t be necessary. I think I just need a few more hours of sleep.”

“Yes, sire.” Haden bowed respectfully and withdrew.

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to knock on Merlin's door, but being pushy was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

Haden had brought a wash basin, so he used a damp cloth to give himself a quick wipe down and donned some fresh clothes. It didn’t make him feel any better.

He stared out the window for a time, watching as the courtyard was cleared and swept, the decorations were removed, and business began returning to normal.

Yesterday had been so perfect, and he had ruined it right at the end. Merlin had been happy, smiling, laughing, care-free and enjoying himself for the first time in over a year. Why did Arthur have to be so stupid?

He sought distraction in his paperwork, filling out reports, reading correspondence, considering requisition requests from the outlying villages, writing a speech for the Cooper’s Guild, and trying very hard not to relive the events of the previous evening.

He wished he had listened when Merlin said no the first time. He was every inch the arrogant, pompous, insensitive prat that Merlin always accused him of being. He was so cocky, so sure that Merlin couldn’t resist his charms, that he hadn’t believed that Merlin was really turning him down. Their entire relationship was based on teasing, rough-housing, and insults; whatever more they became, he was certain that would always be the case.

But Merlin had been insistent. He had been _angry._ If Arthur hadn’t been drunk, maybe he would have realised what a grave error he was making. But nothing, _nothing,_ could excuse the lapse of control that had led him to shocking Merlin with the collar.

He knew that he had hurt Merlin in the past. He had battered him in training, punched him in the arm, thrown goblets at him and cuffed him on the back of his head. But that was all good-natured fun, and he had caused no long-lasting damage. Until now.

The collar was a torture device. He had tortured Merlin. He had promised that Merlin would be safe in Camelot, and yet he had suffered at Arthur’s own hand.

It was an unforgivable betrayal.

The day stretched into late afternoon and Arthur could only stare blankly at the papers in front of him.

The sound of creaking hinges took him by surprise.

“Merlin!” He jumped to his feet, bumping into the table and almost knocking his chair over backwards.

Merlin’s face was expressionless, his eyes flat.

“I’m sorry-” Arthur tried.

“You have no need to apologise, my lord.” His tone was bland, and he did not bother to meet Arthur’s gaze. He moved to collect the clothes that Arthur had discarded on the floor earlier, going about his duties as though nothing had happened.

Arthur wasn’t willing to sweep the incident under the rug. Merlin was far too important to him. “Yes, I do. Of course, I do.”

“Why?” He bundled the clothes into a basket and set it by the door to be collected.

“What I did-”

“I’m just a slave. What does it matter what you do to me?”

“You’re not a slave!”

Merlin snatched up the neckerchief Arthur had dropped last night and tossed it into the basket as well. “As long as I wear this collar, that’s exactly what I am.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Merlin approached, and Arthur held his breath, daring to hope that he was about to be granted clemency. But Merlin stepped around him to straighten the desk and chair he had knocked askew. “You wanted obedience and the bracelet responded. You can demand anything from me and I am in no position to refuse.”

“What happened yesterday was a mistake, and one I do not ever intend to repeat. You have my word.”

“You no longer desire me, sire?” Merlin looked up at him through his lashes.

Arthur swallowed, feeling a familiar warmth spread through him.

Merlin moved closer, his eyes burning with intensity. “Do you want me to pleasure you? Do you want to bend me over?”

_Yes._ “No, Merlin, that’s not-”

Merlin started removing his clothes, beginning with the belt that Arthur had made for him. Arthur was captivated by the release of the buckle, the whisper of leather as Merlin let it slide through his fingers. He pulled his tunic over his head, revealing sculpted muscles sheathed in soft skin.

“You can do whatever you want.” His hands moved to the waistband of his trousers. Arthur’s throat was dry as he watched Merlin slide the fabric down his long legs. The definition of his firm thighs drew Arthur’s gaze higher, and he involuntarily licked his lips at the sight of the thick member nestled amongst dark curls. Arthur wanted to coax it erect, to feel the weight of it on his tongue.

Merlin stepped away from the pool of clothing on the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was deep and husky. “I’m just property, just a pet.”

The words cut through the haze of arousal. Arthur couldn’t bear to hear Merlin speak of himself in such derogatory terms. “Don’t-”

His tone sharpened. “You have made it abundantly clear what you will do to me if I don’t give you what you want. Call me weak, call me a coward, I don’t care, I can’t live through that again. So use me as you must.” Merlin lay back on Arthur’s bed, raising his knees and spreading his legs, presenting himself for his master. He stared blankly at the ceiling, all the fight gone from him.

The lust Arthur felt was almost overwhelming. But he couldn’t act on it. He wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he whispered.

Merlin didn’t respond. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye, sliding unhindered across his cheek and vanishing into the bedcovers.

Arthur’s chest constricted, with guilt and grief and the horrifying realisation that he may have broken their relationship beyond repair. He retreated into Merlin’s bedroom and closed the door before his servant could see him cry.

ooOOoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Merlin and Arthur are drunk after the festival. Arthur asks Merlin to come to bed with him, and he seems amenable to the idea until the collar is uncovered. He says no, Arthur is pushy, Merlin is adamant in his refusal, Arthur is frustrated and accidentally shocks him with the collar. Merlin slams the bedroom door in his face and doesn't emerge until the next evening. When he does, he says that he is just a slave to Arthur and offers himself rather than face the pain of the collar again. Arthur is horrified and realises that he has broken them. He knows an apology is not enough. He retreats.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, it took all of the courage Arthur possessed to emerge from his servant’s quarters. He didn’t know what kind of reception he would receive and a cold lump of dread had formed in his gut.

He found Merlin dressed and sweeping out the fireplace. The bed bore no traces of having been slept in, with the covers straightened and the cushions arranged neatly. The curtains were tied back, the room was spotless and breakfast was laid out on the table.

Merlin didn’t speak to him, and Arthur couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The silence was oppressive, but neither of them would break it.

It was almost a relief when Haden arrived to tell him that he was needed in the throne room at once. Arthur selected his own clothes from the cupboard and dressed quickly, trying not to notice the way that Merlin refused to so much as glance in his direction.

Arthur strapped on his sword and walked to the door. He hesitated before opening it, knowing that he had to answer the King’s summons but concerned that Merlin would stay behind. He did not want to order Merlin to come with him, but nor did he want to trigger the collar by moving out of range.

Thankfully, Merlin solved the dilemma for him. He crossed the room, opened the door for Arthur and waited for him to pass through before following him out.

Arthur still could not find the words he needed. He took a breath and tried to push his emotions as far down as they could go, steeling himself for a difficult day ahead.

“Arthur,” his father greeted him. Arthur joined him at the dais while Merlin moved to stand unobtrusively off to the side.

The other members of the court were already present, Gaius among them. At the sight of his ward, the physician frowned and took him aside to whisper to him. Merlin just shook his head. Gaius reached up to press the back of his hand against Merlin’s forehead and then tried to check his eyes, but Merlin shook him off irritably. This seemed to trouble Gaius even further, but Merlin’s gaze remained fixed on the King, appearing for all the world as someone who was just trying to pay attention.

With a start, Arthur realised that Uther was still talking. “I see you have recovered from your… illness.”

Arthur didn’t feel recovered. If anything, he felt worse. But there was no easy cure for his ailment. “Yes, sire. What news of the court?”

“There has been a break-in. We do not know who the perpetrator was, but they were able to sneak into the castle undetected and they left the same way.”

It was not good news, but Arthur was almost grateful that it had happened. It would help to take his mind off other matters. “What was stolen?”

“We do not know.”

Arthur frowned. “Then how do we know that there has indeed been a theft? Perhaps it was the work of drunken vandals.”

“Geoffrey of Monmonth reported the disturbance.” Uther gestured the man forward.

He bowed, and Arthur nodded in return. “I have been keeper of the royal library for many years. I know every shelf and every book in the collection. But when I came in this morning, it was to discover that one of the bookcases in the East Wing had been blown to pieces.”

“An explosion? What caused it?”

“I do not know, sire, but that is not all I found. It seems that the bookcase was the secret entrance to a hidden room.”

Arthur's interest was definitely piqued now, and in the periphery of his vision he thought he saw Merlin exchange a look with Gaius.

“What was in this room?”

“All manner of strange artefacts, sire. But it is the books that are of the most concern. They are written in the language of the Old Religion, which as you know has been banned in Camelot for over two decades.”

“Do we know what they contain?”

Uther looked to Gaius, who bowed and stepped forward. “I am out of practice, sire, but from what I have been able to decipher so far, I believe that they are books of magic.”

A ripple of unease ran through the room. Arthur did not look at Merlin, not wanting anyone to think there was an association between his servant and the word 'magic', but he couldn’t help wondering if Merlin had known those books were there.

“That is not all,” Gaius said gravely. “The disturbed dust patterns and a conspicuous gap on the shelf indicate that one of the volumes is missing.”

“And the explosion...”

“All signs indicate that magic was used.”

Uther scowled. “Once more a sorcerer has found their way into the very heart of our kingdom.”

Merlin was standing a mere ten feet from the King, as he had thousands of times before, and Uther was none-the-wiser. For the first time since he had brought Merlin home, Arthur realised on a conscious level that what he had done was treason. He was harbouring a sorcerer. It felt like the ultimate hypocrisy to protect one while condemning another, but Arthur knew what his father expected him to say. “I will send out search parties at once, sire.”

“You will join them once you have collected every remaining book from that accursed room and burned them to ash.”

If Arthur rode out, Merlin would have to come with him. He would have to hunt his own kind. How many times had Arthur unknowingly demanded that of him over the years? How many times had Merlin watched his kin die, not knowing if he would be next? He must have lived in fear every day. He probably still did. “Yes, sire.”

“When you apprehend the sorcerer, they too shall burn. We will be free of this plague upon our land, if we have to find and execute every last one of them.”

Arthur swallowed. He imagined Merlin on the pyre, consumed by flames. He couldn’t lose him that way. He refused to.

His resolve had begun to crumble, but this was a timely reminder than the collar was the only thing protecting Merlin from suffering the same fate as all other sorcerers in Camelot. If Arthur released him now and he left for Ealdor, suspicion would immediately fall on him for the theft and Uther would have him hunted down. Merlin was far safer as he was now, with his magic locked away. “Yes, sire.”

ooOOoo

“Did you get it?” Morgana asked.

She was grateful for the tunnels beneath Camelot, as they gave her a way to escape the castle without being seen by the patrols. Morgause had used them two days prior, yet Arthur suspected nothing. He and Uther were as stupid and arrogant as each other, assuming that their secrets were safe and their kingdom was secure. They would soon find out how mistaken they were.

“Yes, sister.” Morgause held out the book for her perusal. Silver moonlight glinted off the title: _Celestine’s Chronicles._

As her hand grazed the leather cover, Morgana could feel the traces of magic in the ancient pages. “I was beginning to fear it would never be found.”

“All our months of searching, and it was in Camelot all along.”

“How did you discover the location?”

“There was once a High Priestess of the Old Religion who lived within Camelot, in the days before the Purge. I found her journal on the Isle of the Blessed, and within its pages there was an account of the day she was forced to flee. She lamented that she could not take anything with her, but she was at least able to close a portion of the royal library and remove all memory of it from the keeper's mind. The inventory of the hidden room was recorded in her journal, and Celestine’s Chronicles was among them. Once I was within the library, it was easy to sense the remnants of her spell, and the book was right where she had left it.”

“Fortune finally smiles upon us, sister.”

“Indeed. The ritual of _Gebisgian_ remains intact, and it promises to be even more powerful than we imagined.”

“What do we need?”

“A few simple items. The claw of a Wyvern, the blood of a fawn, the tusk of a troll, and a reed from the shores of Lake Avalon, among others. I should be able to find most of them without too much difficulty. But it will be up to you to obtain the final ingredient.”

“The heart of a king.”

“More specifically, the broken heart of a king.”

Morgana smiled. “I will cut Uther’s heart from his chest and crush it with my bare hands.”

“I know how you long to be rid of him, sister. But unfortunately, the translation is not clear. It could mean physical destruction, or it could mean emotional anguish. Until we know which it is, we cannot act directly against Uther.”

Morgana's impatience returned. “Why does it matter? If we kill Uther and it does not work, Arthur will be crowned King. The death of his father should cause anguish enough to satisfy the requirements of the spell.”

Morgause pondered this for a moment. “I still believe a test is in order. The timing will be crucial. All the pieces must be in place, ready to act in unison, if our victory is to be assured. We will need Caerleon's army to be poised to attack the moment the spell is activated. If they march too soon, and Uther’s death is not the key, Arthur will no doubt choose to fight first and worry about his ascension later. Our advantage will be lost.”

Morgana glowered, but she knew her sister was right. “Then what do you suggest?”

A slow smile curved her lips. “As it happens, we may be able to achieve two goals with a single action. After all, Prince Caerleon does not have the authority to wage war while his father still lives.”

Morgana understood her meaning. “As always, sister, your wisdom steers our course true.”

“I will need you to do one more thing for me, to ensure Caerleon casts the blame where we need him to.”

“I shall obtain it tonight and send a crow to you before morning.”

“Thank you, sister.”

“I look forward to hearing the results of your test. When we know for certain what is required, I will see it done. You have my word.”

Morgause drew her into a gentle embrace. “Be well, Morgana. When next we meet, it will be on the eve of battle, and all that we have worked for will at last be within our reach.”

ooOOoo


	18. Chapter 18

_I can’t do this anymore._

It was the first thought Merlin had each morning when the sun slanted through his window, and it continued to haunt him until exhaustion dragged him into unconsciousness each night.

He remembered a time, not so long ago, when his days were filled with running errands for Gaius, doing chores for Arthur, attending court, riding out on patrols, studying magic and saving Camelot from her foes. He had been constantly run off his feet, trying to juggle all of his responsibilities at once, and he never had a moment to spare. It was often stressful and always tiring.

But he had purpose. He was needed. The work he did was important. He was helping people and fulfilling his destiny and building a brighter future for Albion.

The better days were interesting, or exhilarating, or some combination of the two. The best days were fun, filled with laughter and adventure and good company. On the worst days, he would commiserate with Arthur or confide in his guardian, and he would take solace in the knowledge that he was not alone.

But whatever the day might bring, Merlin would greet the dawn with enthusiasm and he would wake Arthur with a smile.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He could hardly muster the energy to get out of bed.

His reasons were gone. He was no longer the physician’s assistant, Haden had taken over most of his servant duties, his magic was locked away, and his destiny was out of reach. Arthur was all he had left. For months, he had tried to convince himself that Arthur was enough.

But now he looked at Arthur, and he felt nothing.

He should have been angry. Arthur had rejected him, imprisoned him, _tortured_ him. Arthur had repaid his devotion with abuse and his loyalty with betrayal. Arthur had broken him down into a shadow of his former self, and then he had tried to claim that he loved him.

Arthur didn’t know the meaning of the word.

To love someone was to love every part of them, the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. It was to accept them as they were, and to believe in all that they could be. It was to build them up, to support them, to care for them. It was to stand by their side through every trial. To love someone was to choose them, and to fight for them, each and every day.

Merlin had loved Arthur with all of his heart.

Arthur had shattered it.

The scattered pieces that remained could not muster rage or tears or even disappointment.

He was empty. Hollowed out.

He couldn’t find it within himself to care, about Arthur or himself or anything else. He didn’t care about the books that were burned, even though their ancient knowledge was now lost forever. He didn’t care about the hunt for the sorcerer, even though he had seen far too many executed already. He didn’t care that the search parties failed to find them, even though they could be plotting against Camelot. He didn’t care that Morgana kept stealing sideways glances at the King when she thought no one was watching her, even though he knew that she would not rest until his throne was hers.

Whatever threats Camelot faced, now or in the future, it would be someone else’s responsibility to protect the kingdom. Merlin was done.

ooOOoo

Council was in session when a messenger burst through the doors. “Your Highness, I bring urgent news from the West!”

All discussion in the room ceased. Arthur could tell from his dishevelled appearance and sweat-soaked skin that the man had ridden at break-neck speed to reach them. The expression on his face did not bode well.

Uther gestured for the man to come forward. “What is it?”

“The King of Caerleon is dead.”

The statement earned a mixed reaction. Relief from some who had expected a more dire pronouncement, tension from others who knew well the reputation of the King's son.

“That is not... unexpected,” Uther said, leaning back in his chair. “He had a long and mighty reign. We will of course send our condolences to his heir and his people-”

“Forgive me, my lord, but it was not old age that claimed him.”

Uther sat up straighter. “Then what did?”

“He was murdered.”

As councillors gasped, Uther's sharp gaze swept the room, searching for threats. “By whom?”

“An assassin, my lord.”

Arthur’s hand automatically went to the pommel of his sword. An assassin who was willing to accept a bounty on a King had to be either stupid or extremely skilled. That this man had succeeded was proof that he was dangerous, and there was no way of knowing who his next target would be.

“Do they know who sent him?”

The messenger hesitated. “My lord, the King's body was found with a dagger through his chest. Pinned to it was a piece of parchment marked with his name... And the Pendragon seal.”

Uther leapt to his feet. “ _What?!_ That is _outrageous_!”

“It must be a fabrication,” Arthur said. “Surely no one would believe such a blatant lie.”

“Prince Caerleon has already sworn retribution. His army assembles as we speak.”

“Who could have done this?” Uther demanded. “Alined? Long has he desired war to fill his coffers.”

“He has the motivation,” Arthur agreed, “But not the means. His kingdom is destitute. He could not afford an assassin of such calibre.”

“Odin? He has shown that he is not above sending assassins to do his dirty work.”

Arthur remembered the man who had been sent to kill him all too well. The jousting tournament had afforded him the perfect disguise, and when the lance pierced him Arthur had assumed it was an accident. Riding out against him a second time had been reckless, a point of pride that would have been his folly if fortune had not unseated the man at exactly the right moment.

Looking back on it, though, Arthur suddenly wondered if luck had anything to do with it.

Maybe it had been Merlin, using magic to protect him just as he'd claimed.

As soon as the idea occurred to him, a dozen more examples of luck and happenstance popped into his mind. Falling tree branches that knocked out bandits. Opponents who lost their balance or dropped their weapons just as they were moving in for the killing blow. An arrow that had struck him in the back yet somehow only bruised him. Recovering from an incurable injury. Rock falls, broken chandeliers and crumbling masonry that gave them time to escape from their attackers. Regaining consciousness to learn that he had somehow managed to defeat a dragon.

He had accepted many of these events at face-value, and the ones that were more difficult to explain he had simply attributed to a ‘guardian angel’ and thought nothing more about them. But perhaps it was Merlin all along.

Merlin had tried to tell him, that first day, but Arthur had been too angry to listen. In all the months that had passed, he hadn’t once thought to ask Merlin to explain about his magic and what he had used it for. Arthur certainly hadn’t said thank you.

“Odin and Caerleon have been firm allies for decades, sire,” Gaius said, drawing Arthur’s attention back to the conversation. A King had been murdered, and still all he could think about was his manservant. “I do not believe Odin would do such a thing.”

“Then who? Who stands to gain from this?”

“His successor?” Councillor Kasdren ventured.

“Prince Caerleon would not murder his own father,” Arthur argued. “It may be his desire to conquer Albion, but he would not betray his blood to do so.”

“No other kingdom stands to benefit if we go to war,” Geoffrey said. He had the most knowledge of territories, trade routes and finances in the region, and could therefore be relied upon to identify any possible economic motives.

“Maybe we are searching too far for a culprit,” Uther mused. “After all it was only a week ago that our own castle was infiltrated.”

“You think the thief and the assassin are the same person?” Arthur asked.

“In both accounts, the man evaded detection and vanished without a trace. It could well be the work of magic.”

“What would a sorcerer hope to achieve by this?”

Uther waved a careless hand, his features twisted with distaste. “Chaos. Death. Destruction. That is all they ever seek.”

Arthur had believed that, once. But Merlin was a sorcerer, and he would never wish death or destruction on anyone. Even when he was forced to join in battle against Camelot’s foes, he only ever killed when it was necessary, and he never took any pleasure in it.

Although Merlin had been born with magic, Merlin was the best man that Arthur knew. He was kind-hearted, brave, and loyal to a fault. Surely if his powers were going to corrupt him, his soul would have been lost a long time ago. But Merlin was as far from evil as a person could get.

So perhaps magic was not as inherently wicked as Uther would have them believe.

“What are we going to do about Caerleon?” Gaius asked.

“We must deny all culpability for his father’s murder, condemn the coward responsible for such a heinous act, and assure Caerleon that we hold true to the treaty,” Uther said. “We could even offer our aid in hunting down the assassin.”

The messenger cleared his throat. “Sire, if I may... I barely escaped with my life. I fear that anyone you send would be cut down before they could convey your words.”

Uther's expression became grim. “If we say nothing, it is as good as an admission of guilt.”

“He’s right, sire,” Gaius said. “Caerleon will not wish to hear what you have to say. He has been waiting for a chance to invade Camelot, and the opportunity has just been handed to him on a silver platter.”

“We cannot allow this stain on Camelot’s honour to go unchallenged,” Uther insisted. His eyes were lit with a fierce determination. “Our word is our bond. Our allies must know that we did not break the treaty if they are to trust in the other accords we have signed. It is Caerleon who would be betraying his oath if he were to send an army across our borders.”

“He will do that anyway,” Gaius warned. “He has all the justification he needs, and he will not turn from this path based on your word alone.”

“Be that as it may, representatives must be sent.” Uther’s tone would brook no further argument.

An uncomfortable silence fell. No one wanted to be called upon for this task. Whoever was assigned would undoubtedly be riding to their death.

Arthur knew his duty, and he would not allow it to fall on anyone else. “I will go, Father.”

The King faltered. “Arthur-”

He kept his chin high and met his father’s gaze levelly. “Caerleon will accept that we are not to blame for what happened, or he will give me his formal declaration of war. Either way, I will return to you, Father, you have my word.”

There was a beat of hesitation as Uther weighed his son's life against the kingdom, before he finally inclined his head. “Very well. Go and make your preparations. I will write a letter to send with you. You leave in two hours.”

Arthur bowed and withdrew from the room. Merlin followed him, silent as a shadow.

ooOOoo


	19. Chapter 19

It was a strange thing, to ride towards death instead of running as fast and as far as you could in the opposite direction.

But Merlin packed the saddle-bags, donned his armour and prepared the horses without a single word of protest. Arthur was going to go, no matter what anybody said, and Merlin was going to go with him. That is what he had always done, and he would continue to do so until the day he died. Even if that day proved to be today.

It was not the ending that he had imagined, but at least he would finally be able to rest.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” Gwen asked. She was keeping her tears at bay, but she hugged him tightly.

Merlin was not prepared to make any promises. He hugged her back, trying to think of something he could tell her that would put her heart at ease. He did not think she would appreciate hearing that he was ready to die. He couldn’t even assure her that Camelot would be safe as a result of their actions. It was far more likely that Caerleon would kill them first, and then he would march on the city.

“You, too,” he said at last. He hoped that she would be safe, but he had no way to protect her.

She let him go and stepped back. There was sorrow in her eyes, but she mustered a smile for him.

Gwen had been his first real friend in Camelot. He would miss her.

She went to say her farewells to Arthur, and Gaius took her place.

“My boy...” He didn’t even try to hide the tears that slid down his face. “It feels like I only just got you back, and now-” His voice broke.

“I know,” Merlin said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe... Maybe you could ask Arthur to release you. You shouldn’t have to ride out with him, not when you have no way to defend yourself.”

“I'll be fine,” Merlin lied. He tapped the scabbard of his sword, quirking his lips in a faint imitation of a smile. “I actually know how to use one of these now.”

“Merlin...”

He knew what his guardian was trying to do. But even after everything, he knew that he would not be able to return to Ealdor while Arthur rode to his doom. He shrugged helplessly. “I cannot let him go alone.”

“This is not what destiny intended for you.”

Merlin wasn’t so sure that he had a destiny. The dragon had filled his head with stories and he had wanted so badly for them to be true, to have his life hold some sort of meaning, that he had thrown himself whole-heartedly in pursuit of a destiny that might never have been his in the first place. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe I’m just a servant, and maybe Arthur is just a prince. Maybe Albion is awaiting the real Emrys, and maybe someone else will be the Once and Future King. Maybe our journey ends here.”

Gaius looked devastated by his words, and Merlin realised that it had been thoughtless of him to express those thoughts out loud. They had been rattling around in his head for a while, growing ever louder, and he had just wanted to get them out. But Gaius was about to lose the closest thing he had to a son.

Merlin tried to soften the blow. “I suppose only time will tell. I hope to see you again soon, Gaius.”

His guardian pulled him into his arms. Merlin soaked in the feeling of comfort and safety while he could and tried not to think about how he was abandoning the one person who had always been there for him. He wanted to thank Gaius for everything he had done, and to say a proper goodbye, but he could not bring himself to cause the man any more pain.

“I haven’t really said it, but… you do know that I love you, right?”

Gaius raised a shaking hand to his cheek. “As do I,” he murmured. “Take care, my boy.”

Merlin nodded, and quickly turned to mount his horse before he could lose his composure.

Arthur had been waiting for him. When he saw that Merlin was ready, he gave one last nod of respect to his father. The king stood at the top of the steps, too regal for emotional farewells, and Merlin remembered just how lonely the life of a prince could be.

They had both lost a lot, this past year. He missed what they had once had between them, but he knew that there was no way to go back.

Arthur spurred his horse into action, and Merlin did the same.

ooOOoo

They rode in silence for a day and a half.

Once they crossed the border into Caerleon’s territory, Arthur realised that the laws about magic were behind them. He couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“It was you who sent the light to guide me in the caves of Balor, wasn’t it?”

Merlin blinked, surprised by his outburst. For weeks they had not spoken to each other beyond what was necessary, and he seemed reluctant to be drawn into conversation now. “You would have to ask Gaius about that,” he said at last. “I was dying at the time.”

There were any number of unexplained incidents Arthur could talk about, but it was this memory that had struck a chord with him. “When Nimueh caused the rocks to crumble beneath me and left me hanging from that ledge, do you know what it was that frightened me the most?”

“I don’t imagine plummeting to your death held much appeal,” Merlin said dryly. “And the army of spiders wouldn’t have been all that pleasant either.”

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh. “No, they weren’t. But I did not fear for my own life.”

“A fear of dying is supposed to be a natural, human instinct. But I guess they beat that out of you when you’re training to be a knight?”

“I have always known that I might be called upon to give my life for Camelot,” Arthur agreed. “And bravery is a trait expected of every soldier who serves. But I was scared that day because I thought I would fail. I thought that you were going to die, that I wouldn’t be able to save you. And I couldn’t bear it.”

Merlin was quiet, but he was listening.

“You were… you were the first. The first person to talk back to me, the first person to challenge me to be a better man than I was. The first to find a way past my armour and to really see me when no one else cared to try. The first to listen, the first to understand the weight I was carrying. The first to dare befriend a prince. The first to look at me like… like I was…”

Arthur couldn’t say it. Merlin didn’t look at him that way anymore.

“You drank from that goblet, and when you collapsed it felt like a part of me was dying, too. I hadn’t known you all that long, but I needed you in my life. I couldn’t bear to lose you. I couldn’t let you die. I didn’t care about my father’s orders, I didn’t care that you were a servant, I didn’t care that I could get myself killed trying to find that cure, I didn’t care that I was supposed to be the future king of Camelot. You were the only thing that mattered.

“I was scared that if I fell, you would die with me, and I couldn’t-”

He choked up at the memory and had to force the emotions back down. “But then the light came. It didn’t just show me the way out, it gave me hope. And a part of me thought that maybe, someone out there meant for us to be together. I wanted that. I didn’t know how or why, or how much, until I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me in Jarl’s fortress, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur swallowed. “No. I lost you when I left that collar around your neck, and when I tried to take something from you that you were not ready to give.”

For a long time, the only sound was of hooves on the forest floor.

“You want me to forgive you,” Merlin said.

Arthur wanted that more than anything. “I know I cannot ask that of you. I just want you to know that you mean more to me than I can ever express, and I am truly sorry.”

Merlin brought his horse to a halt and looked directly into Arthur’s eyes for the first time since that awful night. “Will you release me from the collar?”

Arthur hesitated. “Will you promise not to use your magic?”

“No.”

Arthur’s heart sank into his boots. “Then you know the answer.”

“Yes, I do.” Merlin urged his horse into a canter, leaving Arthur in his dust.

ooOOoo

A patrol of Caerleon’s knights found them before sundown. In a matter of instants, they were surrounded by twelve men on horseback, all bristling with steel and ready for a bloodbath.

Arthur didn’t even try to fight them. Leaving his sword in its sheath, he dismounted and raised his hands in surrender. Merlin did the same, bracing to be cut down where he stood.

“I am Prince Arthur of Camelot. I bear a message from my father, King Uther. I request an audience with your King.”

“I could bring him your head,” the lead knight growled. “Or I could deliver you to him so he can have the pleasure of killing you himself.”

Tension was thick in the air and the moment rested on a knife’s edge. Arthur was the picture of perfect calm, but Merlin held his breath. He tried to call for his magic so he would be ready to act if he had to, but it remained firmly out of reach.

The leader gave a feral grin. “I think he would prefer to watch you bleed out, slowly and painfully. To hear your final breath rattle in your lungs. To witness the moment when the light of your eyes is extinguished. Then he will put your severed head on a spike and present it to your father.”

Merlin wondered if he would be given the same treatment, or if he would simply be killed outright. If they tried to behead him, they would encounter the collar. If they realised what it was, they could enslave him as Briac had.

He resolved not to let that happen. He would sooner plunge a blade into his own heart than to be used like that again.

“We are losing daylight,” Arthur pointed out. He did not seem fazed by the man’s threats. “If you are going to present me to your king, you had better get a move on.”

The leader’s mouth curled into a sneer. “So eager to die, are we, little princeling?” He gestured curtly to his men.

Two of them rode forward to collect the reins of their horses, while another swung off his saddle and approached them on foot. He bore a long, coarse rope. None-too-gently, he grabbed Arthur’s arms and forced them behind his back, binding his wrists tightly. Moments later, Merlin was seized as well. The same rope was used, rasping abrasively across his skin as he was yanked towards Arthur until they were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder and their hands were knotted together. It was almost impossible to gain an inch of space between them, especially with the bulk of two sets of armour. Arthur grunted with discomfort, while Merlin tried to breathe through the intense claustrophobia.

“You had better keep up,” the leader snarled. He was given the other end of the rope, and he tugged it hard enough to make them stumble.

“Do you really expect us to walk like this?” Arthur asked, his tone laced with indignation. He was not accustomed to being led around like an animal, but for Merlin it brought back memories of being chained and paraded around by Briac. He shuddered violently, and Arthur must have felt it. “It’s okay, Merlin,” he murmured, “we’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“No,” the leader answered, “I expect you to run.” He dug spurs into the flanks of his horse and it lurched forward.

Merlin and Arthur were nearly sent sprawling. It was a scramble to keep their feet under them as the patrol set a brutal pace, but it was better than being dragged all the way to the castle.

Merlin was in no hurry to get there, wishing to stave off their grim fate as long as he could, but Caerleon’s stronghold was soon looming above them.

He was almost certain that death awaited them inside.

He cast a glance at Arthur, wondering if he would return his power to him in this hour of need. After all, he claimed that the collar was intended to keep Merlin safe, and he was about to be killed.

“I can get us out of this,” he reminded Arthur in a low tone.

Arthur just shook his head.

It was over, then. They were as good as dead already.

ooOOoo


	20. Chapter 20

“Kneel!”

Before they had a chance to comply, a guard used the butt of his spear to deliver a heavy blow to the backs of their knees. They crashed to the ground. Merlin almost face-planted, but Arthur managed to keep him upright.

“You okay?” he whispered. Merlin was alarmingly pale.

“You would think that after all the practice I’ve had, I would have mastered the art of walking on my knees by now.”

It was supposed to be a humorous deflection, but Arthur didn’t laugh. He remembered the first time they had met, out on the training field, before Merlin had known who Arthur was. He remembered the threats he had made. _‘Would you like me to help you?’_

Everyone kept using Merlin as a punching bag. He had done nothing to deserve it.

“Don’t worry. We will say our piece, and then Caerleon will release us.”

“I doubt that,” Merlin muttered.

“There is a code of honour. Caerleon must follow it.” He said it with confidence, but Arthur was not at all certain that Caerleon would hold himself to such a high standard. He hadn’t exactly given the best impression when he was a guest of Camelot.

“Well, well.” The man in question swept into his throne room, his dark cloak billowing behind him. He appeared much the same as the last time Arthur had seen him, with the notable exception of his father’s crown upon his head and the royal crest hanging around his neck. “Arthur Pendragon. We meet again.”

Arthur inclined his head respectfully. “Your Highness.”

“You have some nerve, showing up here.” Caerleon strode forward until he was towering over them, forcing Arthur to crane his neck to meet his gaze. It was a power move, designed to humiliate him, and Arthur did not appreciate it. But he would not allow his distaste to show.

“I am here on behalf of King Uther. If you would be so kind as to untie me, I will retrieve the letter he sent for you.”

Caerleon snapped his fingers. A guard approached but instead of cutting Arthur free, he began a rough search of his person, shoving hands into his belt and surcoat until he found the scroll. He held it out to his king.

“What is this?” Caerleon sneered. He made no move to take it.

Arthur wished he had been permitted to stand. He tried to infuse his voice with as much authority as he could. “It is an official repudiation of the accusations made against the Pendragon name. We heard what happened to your father and we are truly sorry for your loss, but we had no part in it.” He searched Caerleon’s face for any sign that his words had been well-received, but his expression did not change. “In accordance with our treaty, we offer any resources or aid you may require to track down the real culprit.”

Caerleon finally took the scroll from his guard. But he did not open it. Instead, he held up the wax seal to the light of the torches.

“No, Prince Arthur,” he said. “What you have brought me is incontrovertible proof.” He drew another sheet of parchment from his pocket, one that was stained with blood, and held both out for his inspection. “The seals are a perfect match.”

Arthur had to admit, if it was a forgery, it was expertly done. But it was not the seal that caught his attention. It was the late king’s name, written in a flowing script that looked very familiar.

He would recognise that handwriting anywhere. But it could not be.

“The facts are undeniable,” Caerleon declared. “The assassin was hired by the oath-breakers of Camelot.”

This was headed downhill fast. “That is not true. We were framed. A sorcerer broke into our castle to steal a forbidden book of magic. It is possible they stole the royal seal at the same time.” That was a more palatable idea than the thought that someone he loved and trusted could have been responsible for this. “Your father was an ally and a good man; we would never betray him.”

“Your lies mean nothing when the truth is already known. You, Arthur Pendragon, are guilty of intent and conspiracy to murder our King. In accordance with our laws, you shall be put to death.”

Arthur was stunned. He had known this mission would be dangerous, but he hadn’t actually thought Caerleon would stoop so low as to kill a royal emissary.

“You can’t!” Merlin blurted.

Caerleon’s attention shifted to him. He frowned. “I know you. You are that clumsy, impudent servant who couldn’t follow even the simplest of orders. Why are you impersonating a knight?”

Merlin set his jaw and glared up at Caerleon. “Arthur already told you. I am duty-bound to remain at his side.”

“Then you will die with him.” Caerleon drew his sword.

“No!” Arthur twisted, trying to throw himself in front of Merlin, but the ropes tying their hands together made it difficult to manoeuvre. “Please. He is an innocent.”

“So is Arthur,” Merlin argued, shoving him with a shoulder so he would move back into his place. “This crime was committed by an enemy of both our peoples. We must unite against them.”

Arthur stared at him. Merlin played the fool well, but it was in moments like this that he showed the depth of his wisdom. Arthur wondered how much more there was to him beneath the surface, and if he would ever be allowed to see it.

“I will not ally myself with the cowards and traitors in Camelot,” Caerleon spat. “My father’s blood is on your hands, and your blood shall be spilled in recompense.”

He raised his sword and pressed the point under Merlin’s chin. A scarlet drop began to trickle down the blade.

“No!” Arthur couldn’t watch this happen. He couldn’t be responsible for Merlin’s death. “No, I beg you, do not hurt him.”

Caerleon raised an eyebrow. “You care for this boy?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted, more for Merlin’s sake than to answer Caerleon’s question. He may never get another chance to say it.

Caerleon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Why? He’s just a worthless servant.”

“He is worth a great deal to me.”

“Is that so?” Caerleon bent down and took a fistful of Merlin’s hair. “Good. Before you are executed, you will learn how it feels to see someone you care about lying dead at your feet.” He yanked Merlin’s head backwards to bare his throat, practically tearing his hair from his scalp in the process.

Merlin made a choked sound, but the cold touch of Caerleon’s blade silenced him.

“Please, Caerleon, spare his life. I will do anything.”

“You did not spare my father. I do this is for him.” Caerleon moved the blade lower, preparing to slice through Merlin’s neck. There was nothing Arthur could do, he was helpless to stop him-

But the spray of blood never came.

“What is this?” Caerleon asked, a note of curiosity in his tone. He pulled off Merlin’s neckerchief, revealing the collar.

Merlin froze.

Arthur realised that a possible solution to their predicament was right in front of him.

If Arthur let him, Merlin could use magic to save himself. But it would mean revealing he was a sorcerer. They may escape with their lives, but if word got back to Camelot, Merlin would be a dead man anyway. Arthur was torn with indecision. There had to be another way out, one that wouldn’t endanger Merlin even further, he just had to think.

Caerleon reached out to touch the collar. “These markings-”

“ _No_!”

Merlin’s scream rent the air, taking all of them by surprise. Wild-eyed and desperate, he threw himself backwards, taking Arthur down with him. He scrambled, kicking and bucking, trying to get away. But with their hands trapped beneath them and Arthur's weight holding him back, he was getting nowhere fast.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried, conscious of the enemy closing in around them. “Merlin!”

But Merlin couldn’t seem to hear him over his own panic. “No, I won’t let them, I won’t be a slave again, I can’t-”

Guards were rushing forward. Rough hands grabbed at them. Merlin writhed and kicked and bit, fighting fiercely for his freedom. But the only advantage he held was trapped within him, strangled by the collar.

“Enough!” Caerleon stalked towards them, his sword held in an executioner’s grip.

“Merlin,” Arthur hissed, fixing an image of the bracelet in his mind. He thought of the great power he had seen Merlin wield at Briac’s fortress. He could access it at Arthur’s command. “Merlin, _now!”_

He released the magic.

In the same instant, a lance of fire speared through his gut.

“No! _Arthur_!”

He had been stabbed. He knew that. He could see the blade protruding from his stomach and the grim satisfaction on Caerleon’s face.

But the pain was a distant feeling. He was too busy watching blue skies meet the sunrise as Merlin’s eyes burned gold.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Then Caerleon pulled out his sword and agony crashed into him, sending Arthur hurtling into the abyss.

ooOOoo

Morgana had waited more than two years for this moment.

Two years of false smiles and silken lies. Two years of plotting and pretending. Two years of restraint and restriction. Two years spent dreaming of this day while fearing it may never arrive.

But at long last, her patience had been rewarded.

She strode through the castle halls, heels clicking against cold stone while silk swirled around her feet. With every step, she let go of another layer of her disguise. She was not an orphan, all alone in the world. She was not a charity case, dependent on Uther. She was not a lady of the court, preoccupied by fashion and frivolous flights of fancy. She was not a frightened child with an overactive imagination. She was not weak or helpless. She did not care about Arthur, and she did not love Uther.

She was Morgana Pendragon. Rightful heir to the throne of Camelot. A seer without equal. Not simply a witch or an enchantress, but a High Priestess of the Old Religion.

Soon, she would also be a conqueror and a Queen.

No more hiding. She gathered her power around her like a cloak until the very air crackled. Torches flared and extinguished in her wake. Guards shouted in alarm as she passed but were given no chance to draw their weapons. She let her magic do its work, not sparing a glance for her victims as skulls cracked and spines shattered against unforgiving stone walls.

At her slightest whim, the doors to Uther’s chambers blasted open.

A lifetime of battle experience had the king out of bed with a sword in hand before he even processed what was happening. But when he saw who had burst into his chambers, uninvited and unannounced, his blade immediately tipped towards the ground.

“Morgana? What is it? What’s wrong?”

With a flick of magic, she wrenched the sword from his hand and sent it skittering across the floor. It was almost laughably easy to disarm him. She had feared him for so long, when in truth she held more power than he could possibly imagine. He could pose no threat to her now.

He gaped at her, uncomprehending. “M-Morgana? What is this? What has happened to you?”

“I have come for my inheritance,” she said. A wave of her hand slammed the doors closed behind her and bolted them shut to ensure that they would not be disturbed.

“This isn’t you,” Uther whispered in horror. “You have been possessed, or- or I am hallucinating again-”

“Oh, father, I assure you that this is very real.”

He flinched at the title, as though she had struck him. “You- how could you know?”

Morgana bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I know many things, Uther. I know that you betrayed Gorlois in every way imaginable. I know that you have done nothing but lie to me since I arrived in Camelot. I know that I have a half-sister. I know that Arthur was conceived through sorcery, and that you are responsible for his mother’s death. I know you slaughtered hundreds for a crime you have committed yourself. I know that you are a brute and a tyrant, loathed and despised by your own people. I know that you, Uther Pendragon, are a monster, and you are not fit to be King.”

She might as well have been stabbing a doll made in his likeness. Each statement she made, he took as a physical blow until he was doubled over and gasping.

But she was not finished yet.

“Everything you have will be taken from you. Beginning with Arthur.”

“What-what do you mean?”

Morgana smiled, slow and menacing. “You have sent him to his death.”

“No. No, I- He swore he would return to me.”

She affected sympathy. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, I know for a fact that the seal on the assassin’s note was no forgery. When you gave Arthur that letter, you signed his death warrant.”

“Caerleon wouldn’t dare-”

“He already has. Arthur is dead.”

Uther staggered and had to grasp a bedpost for balance. “You’re lying.”

Her voice was as sweet as syrup. “Would you like me to show you?”

She pulled a crystal from her robes and held it out before him. She could tell from the look on his face that he recognised what it was, and so he should; he had one just like it in his vaults.

She incanted the spell, remembering the pronunciation that Morgause had taught her. She felt her magic pour into the crystal, and images appeared on its surface.

She flicked through them quickly, having watched the events through once already – Arthur and Merlin being surrounded, the enemy binding their wrists, dragging them to the castle, forcing them to their knees.

She slowed down, then, wanting to savour this vision. She made sure to emphasise the two identical seals as Caerleon held them out. Her handwriting was as clear as day.

“You,” Uther whispered. “You did this?”

She did not feel a single ounce of regret. “Arthur will never sit on my throne.”

“Arthur is my firstborn son. My only son. The throne is his _birthright_.”

Morgana smirked, unaffected by his anger. “Maybe it was. But a dead man cannot rule.”

“He is not dead!”

“Really? Maybe you should have a closer look.”

The image in the crystal honed in on Arthur. They could both see the fear written on every line of his face.

“It seems his courage failed in the end,” Morgana observed. She would not have expected it from the great Prince Arthur, but apparently even the bravest of men would cower in the face of certain death.

“Watch closely now, my lord.”

Chaos erupted as Arthur and his servant made a pathetic bid for freedom. They ended up sprawled on the ground in a tangled mess while Merlin thrashed like a demon had possessed him. Arthur shouted something.

And then Caerleon plunged his blade into Arthur’s stomach.

Uther’s cry was a strangled mix of outrage and pain. He lurched forward, as though he could somehow break through the crystal to reach his son.

A blinding flash of light from the crystal sent him reeling.

Morgana quashed her annoyance; she still struggled to hold the scrying spell for a long period of time. She wanted to watch the life fade from Arthur’s eyes, but it did not matter. The result was the same.

“You see, my lord? We have killed him together.”

“No,” Uther whispered.

“The crows will be feasting on his flesh even as we speak.”

He shook his head, tears wavering in his eyes. “It cannot be. This is… a dream. Some sort of cruel deception. Arthur is not… Morgana _could_ not…”

Morgana was tired of his denials. The spell that would bring Camelot to its knees required the broken heart of its king.

He was teetering on the precipice. One more push and he would tumble from the ledge, dashing his heart to pieces on the unforgiving rocks below.

Morgana stretched out her hand and let her hatred fuel her magic. She made a fist, seizing the front of Uther’s tunic with an invisible force, then jerked him up off the floor and threw him into a wall. She kept him pinned there as she advanced, eyes burning.

“In my naivety as a child, I thought I loved you as a father. But I am older and wiser now. I see your arrogance, your corruption and your cruelty, and I despise you for it. Your blind hatred for magic deserves nothing but hatred in return.”

Uther sucked in an unsteady breath. “You hate me?”

“With every fibre of my being.”

She could see it in his eyes, then, as what was left of his cold heart shattered.

She smiled in triumph. “The Prince is dead, and you shall join him soon. But not before you watch your kingdom fall.”

She pressed a hand to his chest and began chanting the words of the ritual. As her magic rose, she felt it connect with Morgause through the identical bracelets they both wore. Her sister was in the Darkling Woods, her cauldron bubbling with the other ingredients needed for the spell. Morgana channelled Uther’s grief across their bond and felt Morgause manifest the emotion as a liquid she could pour into the pot.

Morgana repeated the words of the ritual, louder this time. Immobilised against the wall, Uther was helpless to stop her.

Guards were trying to break down the door, but they were no match for her power. And once the ritual took effect, they would be no match for anyone at all.

ooOOoo


	21. Chapter 21

Merlin’s magic exploded.

For months, it had been confined, constrained, suffocated.

No longer. Arthur hadn’t been specific when he released Merlin’s magic to him. The imperative from the bracelet was simply ‘ _survive’_.

Merlin saw Arthur impaled, and he reacted on instinct.

_Defend._ White light burst from him. Caerleon and his knights were thrown back. Weapons scattered.

_Escape._ The ropes around their wrists disintegrated. Wind swirled, spinning faster and faster until Arthur and Merlin were swept up in it. Reality twisted, transforming the throne room into trees and damp earth. They hit the ground with a soft thump, cushioned by his magic.

But Arthur’s form was limp, unmoving. Soaked in blood and still bleeding.

_Heal._ For all that Gaius had tried to teach him, Merlin was no physician. Besides, there was no time for herbs, potions or poultices. There was Merlin, and there was magic, and it _would_ be enough. It didn’t matter that he had no books to guide him. He would not be waylaid by trying to find the right spell or incantation, only to have nature resist his interference. Arthur was dying, and he would not allow it.

It was not Arthur’s destiny to die at the hands of some petty, mortal king.

Merlin placed his palm over the wound and gave a simple command. _“Live_ , Arthur.”

Power flooded into Arthur’s body, and not just from Merlin. He was the conduit for the very essence of life itself, drawn from every bird, every beast, every tree and every leaf for miles around.

Arthur began to glow, so bright it was almost blinding. When the light faded, his injury was gone.

He took a breath, then two. Each came easier than the last. His face relaxed as the pain was taken from him until he was resting peacefully.

Alive. Safe.

And just as suddenly as the floodgates of Merlin’s magic had been opened, they slammed closed.

It felt like going deaf, dumb and blind all at once. His connection to the earth was severed, his senses were deadened, his strength was sapped.

Arthur had given a man dying of thirst the tiniest sip of water and then emptied the rest into the desert sand. Merlin reached for it desperately, hopelessly, but it was gone.

He doubled over, arms wrapped around his middle, feeling the emptiness as a physical ache. Gods, he _missed_ it, he missed his magic. He had tried to live without it, but this wasn’t living. He was a shadow, a phantom, making no impact and serving no purpose. He couldn’t do this anymore. He hated the collar, he wanted it _off,_ or he wanted to be put out of his misery.

“Merlin? Merlin, are you injured?”

Arthur was awake. Merlin should have been relieved, but he was done caring. He was done with all of this.

Ignoring Arthur’s question, he stood up and began shedding his armour.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“Leaving,” Merlin said flatly. The armour had been commissioned for him; it was the only debt he owed and he could never hope to repay it, so he would leave it behind. Arthur could give it to the next hapless servant that he dragged out on patrols.

“Very funny,” Arthur said. He climbed to his feet and looked around. “What happened? Where are we?”

“Within Camelot’s borders. The city is due east from here.” He jerked a thumb to indicate the direction Arthur would need to travel. “Even without a horse, you should reach Camelot before Caerleon and his army.”

“You didn’t kill him?”

Merlin glared. “What purpose would that serve? His queen would seek vengeance and her men would have double the motivation to burn Camelot to the ground. I did only what was necessary for us to escape.”

“And what did that entail, exactly?”

Merlin’s answer was curt as he shucked off the chainmail and let it fall to the forest floor with the rest of his armour. “Magic.”

“Yes, I got that. But I was hoping for a few more details.”

Merlin removed the padded jacket as well. Finally, all that was left was his own clothing, and the accursed collar. “Why? So you know what to write on the execution order?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “ _Mer_ lin, don’t be such an idiot.”

Merlin straightened and set his jaw. “You know what? You’re right. I’m done playing the fool.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“When you learned what I was, you told me to choose between banishment and the collar. I made the wrong choice.”

Arthur frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving,” Merlin repeated, completely unsurprised that Arthur hadn’t listened to him the first time. He never did. “I have no interest in returning to Camelot with you.”

“Hang on! I let you use your magic, that has to tell you something.”

“You didn’t release my magic because you believe it can be a force for good, or because you trust me. You didn’t do it because you’ve changed your stance on sorcery. You didn’t do it because you regret keeping me collared like an animal, or because you think I should be free. You did it because you were desperate, and my magic was _convenient_.”

“That’s not- I did it to save you.”

“You were the one who needed saving. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Arthur’s hand went to his healed stomach. “Yes, I- I was going to say thank you.”

“No, you weren’t.” Merlin never expected any gratitude or recognition. It wasn’t why he did it. But his reasons had become muddied over the years. “Release me from the collar and I’ll be out of Camelot before sundown tomorrow.”

“No!”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you going back on your word?”

“No, I mean- you can’t just leave.”

“Release me or run me through.”

Arthur tried to make a joke of it. “I don’t have a sword.”

Merlin was not amused. “Then kill me with the collar. Either way, I am not going back to Camelot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“If you don’t make a decision, I will find another way to end this.” When Arthur showed no inclination to act, Merlin spun on his heel. He would find some hemlock or wolfsbane to ingest. Thanks to all the herb-picking he had done for Gaius, he knew exactly what to look for.

“Wait, Merlin-”

Merlin wrenched his arm out of Arthur’s grip. “I _have_ waited. I’ve been waiting _years_ for the day you would end the persecution of people like me and restore magic to Camelot. But it’s never going to happen. I am done waiting for you.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t just give me an ultimatum like that. My father-”

“This isn’t about Uther. I know what kind of man he is. I just dared to hope that you would be different.”

“Merlin…”

“I have another name, you know. The druids call me Emrys. There are prophecies written about me. I have more power than any warlock who has ever lived, and I have been spending my time scrubbing your floors.”

“I can always get Haden to clean my chambers,” Arthur tried, but that was not the point Merlin was trying to make.

“I didn’t mind, when I thought I was working towards a brighter future. But when I agreed to let you imprison me with this collar, I abandoned my destiny. I was choosing you, over magic, over Albion, over all the people who are depending on me. I was so blinded by my love for you that I lost sight of my true purpose.”

Tears shone in Arthur’s eyes. “You love me,” he whispered.

Love had chained him just as effectively as the collar had. “That was my mistake. I am meant to bring magic back to the realm. If you will not champion that same cause, then I am wasting my time.”

“I don’t understand. How can magic be more important than what we have together?”

“We have nothing, Arthur. We never did.” They had both been delusional if they thought their feelings could ever amount to anything. There was always something keeping them apart – Merlin’s lies, at first, then Briac, and then the collar. Now it would be Merlin’s banishment. At least, with physical distance and enough time, their hearts may have the chance to heal.

“You need to let me go, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly. “Please.”

Arthur drew a shuddering breath. He looked down at the bracelet and his brow furrowed with concentration.

With the faintest click, the collar mechanism released. The return of Merlin’s power was gentle this time, as though a veil had been lifted and his magic was right there waiting for him.

Merlin reached up to his neck. Shaking fingers closed around the metal, and the collar came away in his hands.

He stared at it for a long time. He had only ever seen it in a mirror until now. It didn’t look like much, but the markings engraved around the outside were written in the language of the Old Religion. He didn’t know the direct translation for all of the words, but he knew enough. _Confine. Punish. Control._

There was nothing in the text about protecting the wearer. Arthur had tried to justify keeping the collar on him 'for his own good', but the collar's only purpose was to hurt and imprison him. It had done its job well.

Merlin was glad to be rid of it at last.

“ _Formeltan_.” The metal liquefied in his hands and the molten drops slipped from his skin without burning him. The collar would never burn him again.

“How- how are you not hurt?”

Merlin sighed. Even when he witnessed magic for himself, Arthur could never hope to understand it. “There are a great many things I could teach you about magic, sire, but you would not care to hear them.”

“Maybe… maybe I could listen. Just for a little while.” He was tentative. Hopeful.

But it was too little, too late. “You haven’t the time. You are needed in Camelot.”

“You could come with me.”

“I used my magic in front of over a dozen witnesses, most of whom are probably marching towards Camelot as we speak.”

“Enemy soldiers. My father will not take their word over mine.”

“I won’t live a lie anymore, Arthur. I won’t hide my magic away as though it is something shameful.”

“But where will you go? What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He would visit his mother, of course, but he could not stay in Ealdor. Perhaps he would travel beyond the five kingdoms. Climb mountains, cross rivers, feel the ocean breeze on his face. Sail to distant isles where magic was wild and untamed, where he could be also. “But I will be free.”

“I want that for you,” Arthur said quietly. “I want you to be happy.”

Merlin could tell that he meant it, and some of his anger faded. After everything they had been through, he did not want to leave on bad terms. “Thank you for releasing me.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

The words earned a glimmer of a smile. “Take care of yourself, Arthur. And be good to Haden; he’s a better servant than I ever was.”

“I don’t know. You weren’t so bad.”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “I’ll be sure to add that to my resume.”

“If you end up working for another prince… make sure he’s not a dollop-head.”

A wave of fondness washed over him. “Don’t worry, Arthur. That title is yours alone.”

Arthur smiled sadly. “I’ll miss you, Merlin.”

“Yeah. You, too.” It was harder than he thought it would be, to leave Arthur behind, knowing that they may never see each other again. He hoped that Arthur would stay safe.

A thought occurred to him. He paused, just for a moment. “There is something I should tell you before I go. You won’t like it, and you probably won’t believe it, but it is only fair to warn you.”

“What is it?”

Merlin had kept quiet, fearing the repercussions if he were to speak out against the King’s ward. But if Merlin was no longer there to thwart her plans, there was no telling what she might do. “Morgana has magic.”

“ _What_?!”

“Her nightmares were visions of the future, and the mysterious fire in her chambers two years ago was caused by the awakening of her magic. The year she was missing, she spent training under a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She has been plotting the fall of Camelot ever since.”

“That’s ridiculous. I would know if Morgana had magic.”

“You didn’t know about me,” Merlin pointed out. “I understand if you don’t want to accept the truth, but I am not lying to you.”

Arthur didn’t respond.

Merlin had said his piece. Whether Arthur chose to heed his words or not was up to him, but Merlin’s conscience was clear. “Just… watch your back.” He turned to leave.

Arthur's final words to him were so soft that he almost didn’t hear them. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

Merlin closed his eyes against the tears, but he wouldn’t look back.

ooOOoo


	22. Chapter 22

The clanging of the warning bells woke Leon from his slumber.

He was alert in an instant. He flung off the covers and crossed his room in three quick strides. There was no time to call for a servant or squire to help him into his full armour, but he pulled his chainmail from the rack.

It felt heavier than usual.

He was probably just tired. By his estimate he had been asleep for less than an hour.

He struggled to get the chainmail over his head and when it fell onto his shoulders, his knees almost buckled.

A sickness, perhaps? He could not recall experiencing any symptoms the day before, but he had been so busy preparing for a possible invasion that he may not have noticed.

If Caerleon's army had reached their doorstep, he had no time to be ill.

His fatigue was sure to vanish once he was in the midst of the action. He needed to get out there. With Arthur away, Leon was in command of the army. Whatever crisis they faced, the knights would be relying on his leadership.

He grabbed the pommel of his sword, ready to rush to the aid of his king, but the weapon seemed to be stuck fast to the table.

Pulling harder availed him little. The sword budged half an inch, proving it had not been adhered to the wood as a prank, but it was impossible to lift. It might as well have been a blacksmith's anvil.

Leon let out a roar of frustration and kicked the table. It tipped easily, spilling his sword onto the floor. To his arms it had felt heavy enough to shatter stone on impact, yet the blade bounced and slid across the floor as if it weighed the same as it always had.

He tried again to pick it up, arm muscles straining with effort, but he could not.

If there was nothing wrong with the sword, the problem must be his. It was as though his strength was gone. Yet he could set the table back to rights with no issue, and it was made from solid timber.

The warning bells increased to a frantic clamour. He couldn’t dwell on this. Sword or not, he had to respond to the call.

Leon ran into the corridor. He encountered a palace guard a few yards from his door, struggling to pick up his spear. This strange affliction was not limited to Leon, then.

It had to be sorcery.

“Leave it,” Leon ordered. “Get to your post!”

The guard hurried to obey, but he barely made it a dozen steps before he stumbled and fell to a knee. “My armour-” he gasped.

Leon could feel the weight of his own chainmail dragging him down. “We have a duty to our King. Whatever this malady is, we must fight through it.” He offered a hand and pulled the guard to his feet.

Leon sent him on his way and headed for the King’s chambers. With every corner he turned, he found more soldiers having trouble with their weapons.

And then he started finding bodies.

They were twisted, grotesque, lying in pools of their own blood, their frozen faces stricken with fear. Yet they bore no battle wounds. No arrows had pierced them, no sword had run them through. It was as though some invisible force had ripped through Camelot’s halls with all the violence of a hurricane, leaving carnage in its wake.

Leon had known these men, trained and fought with them. They had shared campfire stories and tankards of mead and a fierce loyalty to their Kingdom.

They had been cut down before they were even able to raise a weapon in their own defence.

Leon compressed his grief and nausea into a tight knot of rage. The entity responsible for their deaths would rue the day they ever set foot in Camelot.

He increased his pace, fatigue threatening to crush him but fury spurring him onwards. He would first secure the King, and then he would lead the knights to victory against whatever foe had dared to challenge them.

He followed the trail of bodies with grim resolve, knowing that the enemy must have taken this same direct route through the castle, heading with unerring accuracy towards the royal bedchambers. Visitors were not privy to the entire layout of the castle, restricted to public areas only, to avoid this very problem. Either someone had betrayed them, or this was an inside job.

Unarmed, but ready to fight with his bare fists if he had to, Leon charged down the final corridor.

He was met with a bloodbath.

The doors were thrown wide, and heaped behind them were the decimated remains of the royal guards. The chambers were empty. The King was gone.

Leon refused to believe that he was too late. If the King had not been slain where he slept or cut down where he stood, it was likely that their enemy intended Uther to face a public execution. Leon would never allow that to happen.

He ran for the throne room, ignoring the burn in his muscles and the sweat soaking through his tunic. The weight of his armour seemed to increase by ten pounds with every step he took and it wasn’t long before his breath was rasping painfully in his lungs. He staggered into the wall, and salt stung his eyes, but still he pressed onwards.

The distance felt interminable, but at last he reached his destination. He knew he was in no fit state to fight, but he mustered what little strength he had left and shoved at the impossibly heavy doors until they creaked open.

“Ah, Sir Leon. So nice of you to finally join us.”

For a long moment, Leon could not comprehend the sight before him. The floor was scattered with soldiers, knights and servants who had collapsed in ungainly heaps before they could reach the dais. Some were still trying to claw their way forwards, but they were wheezing with exertion. Most were barely clinging to consciousness.

King Uther was on his knees, bound tightly and forced to bow to the usurper on his throne.

Leon had expected a betrayal, but he could never have imagined that it would come from _her._

Lady Morgana.

She was known across the five kingdoms for her beauty and her kindness, but now she was almost unrecognisable. Her warm gaze had turned to ice and her face was contorted by the cruel, triumphant smile that curled her lips.

She beckoned to him. “Come, Sir Leon. I am ready to accept your surrender.”

“Camelot will never surrender to the likes of you.” He took what was meant to be a menacing step forward, but his knees threatened to buckle beneath him and it was all he could do to remain upright.

Her laughter was jarring, discordant, nothing like the helpless giggles of her childhood or the bubbling mirth of her youth. “If you think you have a choice, I’m afraid that you are sadly mistaken.”

“You are all alone here, my lady. When this feeble curse fails, the full might of our forces will fall upon you.”

“Feeble? I have brought the mighty Camelot to its _knees_. The harder you try to fight, the weaker you will become.”

“Curses can be broken.”

“Yes, of course, you are absolutely right. Come on up here, then. All you have to do is kill the King and we can put this whole nasty business behind us. Of course, you will still need a Pendragon on the throne, and I’m afraid Arthur is no longer available to fill the position. No matter, though. As Uther’s firstborn, I am more than willing to take my rightful place as heir.”

Three blows in quick succession. Leon fought to keep the shock from showing on his face, but he could feel the ripples of unease spread through the room.

“You’re lying,” Leon declared.

“Am I?” She kicked a sharp heel into the King’s shoulder, spinning him around to face them. His eyes were flat, his expression hollow. “Uther, I think they need to hear it from you. Am I lying?”

The room held its breath.

“No,” Uther croaked.

There was a collective gasp, and one of the servants wailed in despair.

Morgana’s teeth flashed in a vicious grin. “The spell is really quite simple. Those who bear arms in Uther’s name will lose the strength to wield them. Your king is broken, your prince is dead, and your enemy marches upon Camelot as we speak. You have only two choices. Remain loyal to this pathetic excuse for a monarch and allow Caerleon to take the city uncontested, or swear your fealty to me.”

“Long live the king!” Leon cried. It should have been a rallying call, but the few that tried to echo him whimpered in pain and fell flat on their faces.

Leon tried to stand strong, but the weight of his armour was suddenly too much to bear and his legs buckled.

Morgana’s cackle echoed off the stone walls. “Caerleon’s army will be here within two days. You have until then to decide. I would consider my offer carefully. With me, you will have the chance to defend your homes and your families. I possess a power beyond your comprehension, and I can promise a swift and decisive victory. But if you betray me, your wives and children will be slaughtered in the streets, and you will be helpless to do anything but watch and wait for death to claim you in turn.”

A dreadful silence fell. Morgana smirked and relaxed back into the throne, looking for all the world as though she belonged there. “In your own time.”

ooOOoo

Camelot was in peril. Arthur knew that, and still he spent far too long staring after Merlin, torn between respecting his wishes and chasing after him to beg his forgiveness.

He had thought there could be nothing worse than losing Merlin to a slave-trader. But watching Merlin walk away caused a sharp pain beneath his ribs, which caught and stuck every agonised breath and threatened to choke him.

Merlin had left.

Merlin had _chosen_ to leave.

This wasn’t like the last time that Merlin had gone home to protect his mother. Then, it had been a simple matter to follow him, fix the problem, and bring him back to where he belonged. Merlin had been happy to see him, and so grateful to have Arthur’s help that his eyes had shone. The swell of emotion Arthur had felt in response had caught him off guard.

He knew now what it was, what it had always been. He loved Merlin, and it turned out that Merlin had loved him, too. That revelation should have been the most joyous moment in Arthur’s life.

Instead, it had broken his heart. Because Merlin had loved him, and he had left, and he was _right_ to leave. By keeping him shackled, it wasn’t just his love that Arthur had betrayed.

Merlin used to have faith in him. Arthur had never deserved his loyalty, but Merlin, with all of his boundless optimism and his willingness to see the best in people, had trusted him anyway.

Merlin believed that Arthur could be more than Uther had raised him to be. He thought Arthur could move beyond blind prejudices, to think for himself and to make rational judgements based on his own experiences. It should have been so simple. Merlin had magic, Merlin was good, therefore it had to be possible for magic to be used for good. It was a logical conclusion, but Arthur had rejected it outright. He had inflicted so much pain and suffering on his best friend, on the man he _loved_ , and he didn’t have to.

He could have been a better man.

He wished there was something, anything, he could do to make it right, but Merlin was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

The kindest thing he could do now was let Merlin move on.

Arthur pulled the accursed bracelet from his wrist. If he could melt it down, he would, but he didn’t have Merlin’s talents. Instead, he used a sharp stick to dig a deep hole beneath the roots of a young tree and buried the bracelet where it would never again see the light of day.

Then he removed his cloak, bundled Merlin’s armour into it and slung it over his shoulder. Maybe it was irrational to lug the weight back to Camelot, but the armour was all he had left of Merlin and he wasn’t prepared to leave it behind.

He did, however, need to get moving. If what Merlin had told him was true, and Morgana had magic, then Caerleon’s army was the least of their problems.

Arthur’s attitude towards magic had just lost him the most important person in his life, and it _hurt._ But Merlin had let him off lightly. Considering the power that Merlin had at his disposal, the consequences for what Arthur had done to him could have been far more dire.

He had a bad feeling that Morgana would not be so lenient.

Having grown up with her, Arthur had lost more fights with Morgana than he cared to admit. Most people learned, faster than he had, that it was a mistake to get on her bad side. Her passion, tenacity and cunning made her a formidable opponent, and she didn’t care who she had to go up against, or what she had to do to win.

If she felt that she, and others like her, had been wrongfully persecuted, she would not rest until Uther faced justice for his crimes against them.

And this time, it would be the people of Camelot who paid the price.

ooOOoo


	23. Chapter 23

Merlin headed north.

It was not the most direct route to Ealdor, which lay to the east of Camelot, but he knew that if he passed through the city he would want to stay. That wasn’t an option anymore.

Going the long way around would only add a day to his journey, and he really wasn’t in any hurry to be surrounded by people again. His leash was gone but, after more than a year of being conditioned to expect pain when he was left alone, it had still been a struggle to take that first step past 30 paces. Now he just wanted to get as far away from everyone and everything as possible.

The dark forest granted him the solitude he so desperately craved. He luxuriated in the quiet pad of his footfalls on damp earth, the gentle rustle of leaves, the soft call of owls. His magic swirled through him, granting him enhanced senses that allowed him to move through his surroundings with ease despite the late hour. It was a relief to be connected again, to feel his place in the world, to be at once larger than himself and yet smaller in the grand scope of the universe.

He tried not to let it bother him when he could no longer sense Arthur. He didn’t want to think about Arthur, or worry about Arthur, or second-guess his decision to leave Arthur.

He didn’t want to feel like half of a whole, like he had left a part of himself behind. Now that he had his magic back, he was complete for the first time in a long time. He didn’t need Arthur, and Arthur didn’t need him.

They could never have had a real future together. They weren’t two sides of the same coin, they were oil and water, a prince and a servant, a Pendragon and a dragon lord. They weren’t meant to be, and Merlin had been a fool for ever believing otherwise.

He had made the right choice.

Merlin took a deep breath, and released it with a ripple of magic. The air spiralled away from him, dancing across the forest floor, sending leaves and other natural debris spinning into a miniature whirlwind. He plucked several small rocks from the blur of movement, levitating them into his hands and then flicking them up into a juggling act that would put any court jester to shame. He conjured pinpricks of starlight and scattered them in a sparkling path ahead of him. He left a trail of flowers blooming in his wake.

Magic was so beautiful. That was something Arthur would never understand, and Merlin himself had almost forgotten. Since arriving in Camelot, Merlin had mostly used his magic for Arthur’s sake, which on good days translated to menial labour, and on bad days required using it for deception, violence and even murder.

Gaius had always scolded him for being frivolous with his powers, but there was a simple joy in letting them roam wild like this. No pressure, no fear, no fate of the kingdom hanging in the balance or grand destiny to measure up to. Just Merlin and magic, the way it used to be.

Except… he wasn’t as alone out here as he had assumed.

The grey dawn arrived just as he crossed into the Darkling Woods, but he didn’t hear the normal sounds of nature awakening. Unsettled, he reached out to find the cause and recoiled as he sensed the presence of another magic-wielder. He extinguished his spells immediately, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

He could avoid them. If he travelled further north before breaking east, rather than skirting around the city as he originally planned, they would never know he was here. He didn’t have to get involved.

Besides, whoever it was, it was entirely possible that they meant no harm. Wasn’t that the point he had been trying to impress upon Arthur? That a person wasn’t bad or dangerous just because they were born with magic?

It was probably just a druid, come to trade their wares in the marketplace. Nothing to worry about.

But…it wouldn’t do any harm to check. Just to be on the safe side.

Merlin closed his eyes and concentrated, probing further, trying to glean something of their identity or their purpose.

His magic brushed against theirs and in that brief moment of connection, he heard a lilting, almost musical voice echo through his mind.

Morgause.

Merlin sighed as he withdrew his magic. He already knew why she was here. But there had been no dramatic plots from Morgana and her sister since their failed attempt to retrieve the Cup of Life, and he had really rather hoped that they had given up.

Of course, it was obvious that Morgana had sent the assassin who killed Caerleon’s father. The note with her handwriting and the Pendragon seal was damning evidence. But simply inciting a war between the two kingdoms could hardly be the extent of her plans. Camelot hadn’t fallen to a conqueror yet and if, by some chance, Caerleon did prevail, Morgana wouldn’t gain much. Uther’s death wouldn’t sate her – she wanted to rule over Camelot and return magic to the land.

Merlin wondered if he should just let her. He had spent years trying to subtly guide Arthur towards building a more accepting and inclusive kingdom, but maybe Morgana’s direct approach would be more effective. Her methods weren’t ideal, but Uther had been just as ruthless during the Purge. Once she had what she wanted, she would settle down.

The problem was, what Morgana wanted was to see Arthur dead. And as hurt and betrayed and angry as Merlin felt, he didn’t want Arthur to die.

Morgause was out there right now, no doubt weaving some sort of nefarious spell that would allow Morgana to overthrow the King.

Arthur and his knights could deal with Caerleon, but they had no defence against magic. The warning that Merlin had given to Arthur was all but useless, because unless he somehow managed to catch Morgana by surprise, he would be no match for her. When he returned to Camelot, Arthur would be at Morgana’s mercy, and she would grant him none.

Merlin didn’t want to care. He raised a hand to his throat, feeling each gnarl and divot of scarred skin. Arthur had kept him collared. He had left an instrument of torture around his neck, had imprisoned his magic and restricted his freedom, had punished him when he refused to give Arthur what he wanted.

But Arthur had also rescued him from Briac’s fortress, even when he believed that Merlin was a traitor. And he had released Merlin in the end, even if it was too little, too late.

Merlin didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive him.

But if he left, and Arthur died, he would never be able to forgive himself.

ooOOoo

There was something wrong with Arthur’s armour.

He had slogged through the forest for hours, trying to keep his footing in the dark while every tree root conspired to trip him over. It was sweaty, exhausting work, especially with the heavy bundle slung over his shoulder.

By the time the sun broke over the horizon, he was ready to collapse into a heap. Figuring that he had made decent time, since Camelot was just over the next ridge, he gave into the urge. He only intended to rest for a few minutes, catch his breath, stretch out his legs a little.

The trouble was, he couldn’t seem to get back up again.

He tried a few times to push himself to his feet, but it was as though his armour had suddenly tripled in weight. Every attempt sent him crashing back down into the dust, and the jolt of impact sent shockwaves through his aching muscles.

A lack of sleep should not have been enough to weaken him like this. He had marched through the night before. In fact, he had _fought_ through the night before.

Camelot was in danger, his father was relying on him, Arthur _needed_ to get up.

But he couldn’t.

Arthur remembered the day he had received his first suit of armour. When the chainmail had dropped onto his young shoulders, his knees had buckled.

His father had grasped his elbow to pull him back up. His voice was stern. _“One day, you will command this army in my name, Prince Arthur. Stand tall. Stand strong. Do your king proud.”_

_“I will,”_ Arthur had promised. He wasn’t going to go back on his word now.

He fixed an image of his father in his mind and tried again.

With a roar of effort, he stood up. And promptly blacked out.

When he regained consciousness, he was flat on his back and it felt as though an ox was sitting on his chest, trying to crush him to death.

He struggled to move, but his chainmail was suffocating him and his pauldron had his shoulder pinned to the ground.

This wasn’t fatigue. There was something else at work here. It reminded him of how he had felt during his quest to retrieve the trident of the Fisher King. Completely and utterly drained, beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Each step had been like wading through molasses, each breath was hard won, and every piece of his armour felt like a burden that was impossible to bear.

He had collapsed then, too, only he had awoken feeling much improved, and Merlin had been right there.

He realised now that he must have been under some sort of spell. No doubt Merlin had broken the enchantment, but he hadn’t been able to take credit for it and, instead of thanking him, Arthur had yelled at him for interfering.

He was beginning to realise that he owed Merlin his life many, many times over. How poorly he had repaid that debt.

Now there was no Merlin here to lift this curse from him, and it was entirely his own fault.

He couldn’t rely on Merlin to save him anymore. He had to find his way out of this one on his own.

He tried resting for a few minutes, hoping to regain some of his strength. When that didn’t work, he tried to clear his mind and meditate his way to freedom. Then he imagined that he was in the midst of an all-out battle, relying solely on instinct rather than making the conscious choice to move.

He was still stuck fast.

He tried to think of what Merlin would do. He always spouted strange nonsense during moments like this. Something along the lines of _Trust yourself, Arthur,_ or _Stop being a bone-idle toad,_ or _I care a hell of a lot about that armour,_ or _We have to find the source of the magic._

The echo of Merlin’s past words sparked a memory in him.

When Morgause and the Knights of Medhir marched on Camelot, they had cast a spell that put everyone to sleep. The only person who hadn’t been affected was Morgana, apparently because Gaius had given her some sort of potion. Arthur never found out for sure, because by the time it was all over, Morgana had disappeared. Along with Morgause.

He remembered what Merlin had told him. _“The year she was missing, she spent training under a High Priestess of the Old Religion.”_

All that time they had spent searching for her, losing too many good men along the way while Uther was consumed by his grief and Camelot teetered on the edge of a precipice, Morgana had been with Morgause. Learning from her. Learning magic.

This had to be their doing. Somehow, they had cast a spell that sapped him of his strength, and it seemed to be linked to his armour.

The only logical solution he could see was to shed the excess weight.

It took some doing, with his arms trembling and his fingers fumbling ineffectively at the buckles, but eventually he managed to strip off his gauntlets, vambraces, pauldron and chest plate. He knew he had to look ridiculous wriggling out of his chainmail like some sort of deformed snake trying to shed its skin, and there was an alarming moment when he wasn’t sure he would be able to get it over his head.

Instead of panicking, he imagined the way that Merlin would laugh at the sight of him. Oh sure, he’d help Arthur out, but later Arthur would find him re-enacting the incident in an entirely exaggerated fashion for the entertainment of his knights. Merlin would be rosy-cheeked, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and when Arthur barked at him Merlin would just skip off to do his chores, beaming from ear to ear.

The memory of Merlin’s smile gave him the boost he needed to escape the chainmail. With it gone, he felt much lighter.

He was able to sit up without any trouble. After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he stood to his feet.

This time, he didn’t fall.

“Even when you’re not here, you’re still saving me,” Arthur murmured to his absent friend. “Thank you.”

He didn’t know how he was supposed to win a war without his armour, but no matter how badly the odds were stacked against him, Merlin had always believed he could prevail.

“I won’t let you down, Merlin. You have my word.”

Before he continued onto Camelot, Arthur spared a last glance at the red bundle he had hoped to bring back with him. He regretted that it was necessary to leave it behind after all, but he doubted the spell would allow him to carry Merlin’s armour any more than he could bear his own.

He reached for it anyway, the hope faint but the desire impossible to deny.

He expected it to be as immovable as a mason’s cornerstone. But it didn’t weigh an ounce more than it should have, and he was able to lift it easily.

The spell hadn’t touched it.

For one crazy moment, Arthur had the wild idea that Merlin had infused his armour with some sort of protective warding. But he hadn’t had access to his magic while he was wearing it, and he had removed the armour before Arthur had released him from the collar.

Maybe the spell only affected armour that was worn. He tried to pick up his own chainmail again, but he might as well have tried to lift a boulder.

Arthur couldn’t understand it, but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune. Although Merlin’s armour had been forged to his specific measurements, Arthur could fit in it well enough.

He thought that Merlin would approve. He had been insistent that Arthur needed his protection, and he was furious when Arthur got hurt – Arthur hated to think how angry Merlin would be if he was reckless enough to get himself killed. He wanted to avoid that, if at all possible.

Arthur donned the armour quickly, and made haste towards Camelot.

ooOOoo


	24. Chapter 24

“I know you’re out there.”

Merlin froze. He had been trying to find a better vantage point, but stealth had never been his strong suit (much to Arthur’s chagrin). No matter how carefully he chose his path, his feet unerringly found a fallen twig to snap. When it happened during a hunt, Merlin didn’t mind that he had warned their intended prey of their approach, but it wasn’t ideal when he was supposed to be sneaking up on a powerful sorceress.

Morgause’s voice rang out through the forest once more. “Show yourself!”

He had definitely lost the element of surprise.

There was not much point in remaining hidden. If he had wanted to avoid a confrontation, he could have simply continued his journey, but – ever the idiot Arthur had accused him of being – Merlin had chosen to stay.

He stepped out into the clearing.

Morgause spun to face him. He saw the shock of recognition in her eyes. “You!”

He offered a jovial smile and a little wave, leaning into the bumbling manservant image he had spent so long cultivating. “Hello, again.”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

Merlin shrugged. “Sorry?”

Morgause moved around her cauldron and drew her sword. Merlin shifted back a few paces, trying to appear intimidated by the show of force.

“Caerleon had you,” Morgause insisted. “Your death was assured. After Arthur’s execution, Caerleon had no reason to leave you alive. You cannot be here.”

She thought Arthur was dead. Merlin wasn’t going to disavow her of the notion. “I can go, if you like?” He gestured towards the trees behind him.

Morgause stalked forward, a growl in her tone. “You are not going anywhere. You will explain yourself, immediately, or I will run you through.”

“You can certainly try,” Merlin allowed, slipping around the edge of the clearing. Morgause mirrored his actions, moving further away from her cauldron. “But you don’t exactly have the best track record with killing me, do you?” He eyed the thick, bubbling potion and the vapours that rose from it. He recognised a few of the ingredients from their smell (the trace of troll was especially potent), but he had no idea what kind of magic she had produced with the concoction. “I mean, that whole business with the Serkets, that must have been embarrassing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How _did_ you escape from those chains?”

“A jester never reveals his tricks.”

Her lips twisted with displeasure. “Always so secretive, Merlin. But it matters not. This time I will kill you myself.” In a blur of movement, she closed the distance between them and swung her sword in an arc that should have cleaved him in two.

Merlin raised a hand, his eyes flared gold, and the sword slammed to a halt bare inches from his skin.

Morgause gaped at him. “It cannot be.”

Without breaking her gaze, Merlin made a curt gesture that sent her sword flying from her grip. It scattered dirt and leaves in its wake as it skittered across the forest floor, before clanging to a halt against a tree on the far side of the clearing.

She shook out the sting in her hand, disbelief written all over her features. “You’re a warlock?”

It was a relief to finally say the truth out loud. “I am.”

“And yet you have spent years in Camelot, a city where magic is outlawed upon pain of death. You lived in the castle of a King who has executed hundreds of your kind. You served his son as a _servant!_ ”

Hearing it said aloud, Merlin realised how insane it sounded. “I did.”

“Why?”

Honestly, Merlin didn’t know anymore. Rather than answer her, he asked a question of his own. “What are you and Morgana planning?”

Morgause bristled. “That is none of your concern.”

“It is, actually. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into protecting this kingdom. I’m not about to let you destroy it.”

“If the people of Camelot make the right choice, none but Uther has to die.”

“And what choice is that?”

“They must swear fealty to Morgana. When Uther is dead, she will ascend to her rightful place on the throne.”

“That will never happen.”

“You think not? Uther is weak, and by now every person in Camelot has experienced that weakness first-hand. If they wish to have the strength to stand against Caerleon’s army, they must have a strong Queen to lead them.”

“They will not accept a usurper.”

“Once the enemy is at their gates, they will realise that they have no choice.”

“The knights of Camelot can defend the kingdom well enough on their own.”

Morgause smirked. “Not if they attempt to raise their swords in Uther’s name.”

And there it was. Villains never could seem to resist bragging about their brilliant plans, which inevitably made it easier to thwart them.

Merlin’s gaze flicked back to the cauldron. It looked heavy, but if he conjured a fierce wind, he might be able to tip it over. Once the contents were spilled, he had to hope that the spell would lose its potency.

“I’m afraid that won’t work.” He looked back at Morgause to find her watching him with amusement. “The potion has already served its purpose. The spell draws its power from Uther, now. Of course, you’re more than welcome to poison him, as you did my sister, but that will only further our cause. Camelot will be in need of a sovereign, and Morgana will be more than happy to oblige.”

“I’ll find another way to stop you.”

“Why? Uther is a curse upon this land. While he lives, people such as you and I will never be free.”

Merlin resisted the urge to raise a hand to his scarred neck. “Magic isn’t wanted here,” he said quietly. “If Morgana takes the throne by force, the people will resent her, and their hatred for magic will only deepen.”

“They don’t have to love her. They only have to accept her rule.”

“Is that really what she wants? To be despised by the people, and resisted at every turn? To only ever sleep fitfully because betrayal could come at any time?”

“I will protect her.”

“I thought I could protect Arthur. You only have to fail once.”

“I won’t,” Morgause said fiercely. Her hands came up and he could feel the magic brewing within her.

Merlin didn’t really want to fight. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave? Start again, somewhere far away from here?”

“Camelot is her _home_. Morgana shouldn’t have to flee because of the hatred and ignorance of others. She has just as much right to live free and to be happy as anyone else!”

“Not at the expense of innocents.”

“Uther is no _innocent_ ,” Morgause spat. “And anyone who aligns themselves with him bears as much guilt in his genocide as he does.” She snapped her fingers.

Merlin jerked back, away, but the bolt of pain still caught him in the gut. He doubled over, gasping, and second spell slammed into his jaw. He hit the ground hard.

“Warlock or not, you are no match for me. I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion.”

Merlin spread his hands against the earth and muttered a spell under his breath. “ _Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu_.”

The ground rumbled.

Morgause’s voice changed pitch with alarm. “What are you-”

A violent _crack_ rent the air and the earth split. Morgause fell with a cry, but managed to catch the edge with her hands. “ _Gehæftan!_ ” The dirt erupted as conjured vines burst through, curling down towards her.

Merlin moved to stop them, only to find that more vines had ensnared his legs. It took three cries of _“abrecan!”_ to break their hold, by which time Morgause had managed to crawl out and regain her footing.

Another snap produced a familiar column of fire that raced towards him.

Merlin dove out of its path and only narrowly avoided tumbling into the crevice he had created. “ _Eorþe weall_ ,” he gasped, flinging a pile of loose dirt into the air. It didn’t have time to form a wall before the fire hit, throwing dirt and flame in every direction. He ducked his head, trying to avoid catching any in the face, but he still had to spit out clumps of earth before he could choke out another spell. _“Ic þé wiþdrífe!”_

He heard the stunner hit its mark; Morgause collided with an unforgiving tree-trunk and had the breath knocked out of her. While she was temporarily winded, Merlin took the opportunity to deal with the cauldron, on the off chance that it would help. The potion hissed and sputtered as it spilled across the ground and seeped through the cracks.

Merlin almost missed the flash of metal, lurching out of the way of its deadly trajectory at the last second. The sharp edge of the sword still sliced across his arm, spraying blood. He couldn’t afford to heed the injury, spinning to grasp the pommel of the sword and almost stumbling when he was caught up in its momentum. He brought his magic to bear, reclaiming control of the weapon, and flung it back at Morgause.

She lifted a hand, but Merlin pushed through her interference and drove the sword straight through her palm into the tree behind her. She screamed from the pain and for a second he thought he had her. In the next instant, she had contorted her body to reach the hilt and yanked the sword free. Blood spilled liberally from the wound, but she snapped off a clotting spell and it quickly closed over.

Merlin shot off a swift “ _ahatian”_ that heated the sword and forced her to drop it. She tried to grasp it with her magic again, but Merlin wrested it away. From the fear in her eyes, he knew she had realised that he had more raw power than she did.

For a long moment, the blade hung in the air, pointed directly at her throat. A simple flick of his wrist would be enough to kill her.

Instead, Merlin took inspiration from her earlier spell. He chanted “ _gehæftan”_ repeatedly until a thick weave of vines had encased her, pinning her tightly against the tree and not allowing for an inch of movement beyond shallow breaths. For good measure, he banished the sword; it vanished into the depths of the forest, far beyond her reach.

“Who _are_ you?” Morgause hissed.

It was a good question. He had been a farm boy in Ealdor, a prisoner in Jarl’s stronghold, a slave in Briac’s fortress, a servant in Camelot. Most people knew him as Merlin, but the druids had given him a different name. If he walked away from Camelot now, he would be leaving both Merlin and Emrys behind. Who would he be, then?

“I’m the one who defeated you,” he answered simply.

“Too late to save your precious Arthur,” Morgause spat. “And soon it will be too late for Camelot.”

“Actually, Arthur’s on his way back to Camelot as we speak.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No! No, Arthur is _dead_. Caerleon killed him!”

“Well, he tried, I’ll give him that much. Don’t tell me your plan depended on someone else doing your dirty work for you?”

Morgause gritted her teeth. “It doesn’t matter,” she ground out. “Morgana will enjoy killing Arthur herself.”

“You think she can?”

Her upper lip curled with disdain. “His sword would be no match against her magic, even if he could wield it, and he will be no more willing to kill his father to end the spell than you are.”

Merlin withheld a sigh, knowing she was right. He didn’t want to go back to Camelot. Stopping Morgause was one thing; he hadn’t exactly had to go out of his way. But he had left Arthur for a reason and he had no desire to get dragged back into that emotional quagmire. He had his freedom now.

If he went up against Morgana, there were a few different ways it could end, and most of them were unpleasant. Morgana could kill him. He could kill her, earning Uther’s wrath and a date with the executioner. He could reveal his magic and be burned at the stake. He could be driven out of Camelot and live the rest of his life on the run. There was the faint possibility that he might be able to keep his magic a secret and still save Arthur’s life, but that would just be falling back into old patterns of behaviour. He didn’t want to live that life anymore.

Alternatively, he could leave Arthur to his fate.

He might prevail on his own.

Or Morgana could kill him.

_“Forbaer-”_

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Merlin snapped tiredly, crooking a finger at the vines so a tendril snaked across Morgause’s mouth. She made muffled sounds against the gag and he watched her dispassionately for a few moments, wondering if she would manage to perform any magic even bound as she was. When nothing eventuated, he concluded that she no longer posed a threat. Just in case, he cast a sleeping spell. She slumped against her restraints, out cold, but still breathing.

He sighed. Time to make a decision.

ooOOoo


	25. Chapter 25

Camelot was a ghost town.

With the imminent threat of Caerleon’s army marching across their border, there should have been soldiers lining the walls and double the guards at every post. Arthur approached cautiously, but he needn’t have bothered – there was no one to hail him or challenge his approach. He slipped through the open gates entirely uncontested. The only trace he could find of his men were piles of armour and assorted weapons that lay carelessly abandoned.

After his own experience with the unnatural weight of his armour, he had a good idea of what had happened. He supposed it was a small mercy that he wasn’t stumbling across dead bodies; they would have been horrendously vulnerable to attack while their own armour was conspiring against them.

Of course, an attack was on its way. If he didn’t find a way to break this curse soon, Camelot would be swiftly overrun.

He thought he heard the slightest sound of movement coming from a few of the houses as he passed, but there wasn’t so much as a twitch of the curtains. His people were terrified; their last desperate hope was to go unnoticed.

Arthur clenched his fists, sickened by the idea that Morgana could be responsible for this. It was cruel, to deny the people of Camelot even the dignity of fighting back. What had happened to the woman who would take up arms to defend a small village from raiders, or give up her own limited rations to feed the hungry, or help tend the wounded after an attack?

He had grown up with Morgana. He _knew_ her. Sure, she could be annoying and headstrong and proud, but she was also kind, and generous, and committed to doing what was right over what was easy. Her influence had helped him to become a better man.

If he hadn’t seen her handwriting on the assassin’s note, he would never have believed that she could betray Camelot. His first instinct was to blame the corruption of magic, but it was that very same attitude which had brought them to this point. The truth was harder to stomach: that, through their actions and prejudices, Arthur and his father had driven her to this.

He didn’t want to raise a sword against Morgana. Unfortunately, his duty to Camelot and her people had to come first.

With a heavy heart, Arthur ascended the castle steps.

He found her in the throne room.

ooOOoo

Not _one_.

Not a single man, woman or child had pledged their allegiance to her. Caerleon was due to arrive in a matter of _hours_ , and still they refused to yield.

Morgana was furious.

These were _her_ people. She had fed them, clothed them, advocated for them, defended them. She had honoured the knights, and she had always treated even the lowest citizen with kindness and respect. She had just revealed to them that their King was a liar and a hypocrite, and she had spared them the incompetent rule of a spoiled prince. She had promised them protection, and she had real power to back up her words.

They should be throwing themselves at her feet.

But the people sprawled before her were only there because they were loyal to Uther, and too stupid to realise that her spell would incapacitate them before they could harm so much as a single hair on her head.

Sir Leon was so stubborn that he had rendered himself practically comatose.

Even Guinevere had betrayed her, although she at least was not imbecilic enough to confront Morgana directly. She and the other servants had scattered like rats, warning the rest of the townsfolk about the spell and what would happen if they tried to take any action on Uther’s behalf. Morgana had half expected the people to attempt an exodus from the city, but there was nowhere for them to run. Most neighbouring kingdoms were either hostile already, or likely to have turned against them after they learned that Camelot had broken a long-standing treaty. King Rodor of Nemeth might have been willing to take in refugees, but no one could house their entire population. Besides, Caerleon was so close that they would probably be cut down before they even reached the border.

So they hid like cowards, rather than taking the simple action that was required to get them out of this mess.

It was infuriating. At this rate, she was going to have to send Morgause to kill Queen Annis, so they could repeat the ritual of _Gebisgian_ with Caerleon and take control of his army instead. She would prefer that the people of Camelot gave her their loyalty willingly, but she would rule with an iron fist if she had to. She would still be a better ruler than Uther had ever been, or Arthur ever could be.

With the might and resources of two kingdoms combined, perhaps in time she could turn her sights to conquering all of Albion. She could depose tyrants like Cenred and topple fools like Alined. She could eliminate the pointless death and destruction caused by endless wars. She could ensure that no magic-user in the five kingdoms ever faced prejudice or persecution again.

The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Queen of Albion had a nice ring to it.

She wrote a note to her sister describing the change in plans, and had just released the messenger crow out of the window when she heard the doors to the throne room creak open.

A triumphant smile curved her lips as she stepped back onto the dais, ready to welcome her first loyal subject with regal grace. She wondered who it would be. One of the noblewomen in her entourage? A handsome young knight? A merchant from the marketplace? In a secret corner of her heart, she hoped it would be Guinevere, though she would admit that to no-one.

The last person she was expecting to see was her dead brother.

But Arthur strode through the doors, very much _alive_ , wearing ill-fitting armour and a grim expression on his face.

Murmurs swept through the crowd. Men who had been practically lifeless, brought low by her spell, began to lift their heads. Hope stirred.

Morgana couldn’t let this happen. She had not come this far to lose everything now.

Forcing down the rage and horror that warred within her, Morgana hoisted a smirk onto her lips. “Welcome, dear brother.”

That stopped him in his tracks.

If this were a tournament, Morgana would have just delivered the first devastating blow. Her confidence grew, and her words took on a deeply mocking tone as she continued, “Oh, Arthur, did our father never tell you? I am his daughter, and your half-sister. King Uther’s first-born child. The _rightful_ heir to the throne of Camelot.”

It was rare for words alone to rattle Arthur, but Morgana would swear his skin had paled. “You’re lying.”

“Oh, believe me, I wish it weren’t so. The idea that Uther’s blood flows through my veins fills me with revulsion. But alas, infidelity can be added to the long list of Uther’s crimes. Isn’t that right, _father?”_ She kicked a sharp heel into Uther’s side. He grunted, but gave no other indication that he was aware of what was happening. It was pathetic, really, how easily he had broken.

Arthur’s gaze fell to the man curled at her feet, noticing him for the first time. The remaining colour bleached from his face. “Father?” He stumbled forward. “Father!”

“He doesn’t look like much without his crown and fancy clothes, does he?” Morgana sneered.

“What have you done to him?”

“I just hit him with a few hard truths. He didn’t take it well.” She gave him a condescending pat on the head.

“Don’t you touch him!” Arthur snapped. He made an aggressive move towards her, and promptly fell flat on his face.

Morgana’s grin broadened. She had worried that being out of range when the spell was cast had spared Arthur from its effects, but it seemed to be working perfectly after all.

“Let me catch you up, little brother. Our father is the heart of a spell that drains the strength from anyone who tries to fight in his name. You can struggle as much as you want, but you cannot hurt me, and you cannot save him. The spell cannot be broken, unless you’re willing to stab your own father through the chest, and somehow I doubt you have the stomach for that. Alternatively, you could renounce your claim to the throne and swear your fealty to me.”

Arthur did not have the sense to know when to give up. Though he trembled with the strain, he pushed himself to his knees and glared up at her. “Never.”

Morgana was tempted to just kill him for his defiance, rather than go to the hassle of trying to sway him. However, the people of Camelot were far more likely to fall in line if Arthur capitulated to her first. It was fortunate that she knew exactly where to apply pressure.

“Don’t speak in haste, Arthur. Did you not swear an oath to serve and protect the people of this city? King Caerleon will be on our doorstep at any moment. If you refuse to bow to me, his army will lay waste to the citadel and you will be helpless to stop him. Your knights will be slaughtered and your people enslaved. Is that really what you want?”

“Don’t do this, Morgana. This isn’t who you are.”

She bristled at his presumption. “You have _no idea_ who I am.”

“I know you have magic. But that doesn’t mean you have to become a monster.”

“I’m removing a tyrant from the throne, ending the persecution of magic-wielders, and claiming my birthright. That you would describe my actions as ‘monstrous’ just goes to show how deeply your prejudices are ingrained.”

“I saw the bodies, Morgana,” Arthur said quietly. “You murdered nineteen good men.”

Morgana refused to regret her actions. She had only done what was necessary, what was _needed_. “There are always casualties in war.”

“This isn’t a war. This is treason against your king.”

“Uther is no king of mine!”

“Look at him, Morgana. Really look at him. Look what you have done to him, what you have reduced him to.”

Morgana’s lip curled in disgust at the snivelling wreck of a man she had once thought to be a noble man and a great ruler. “He is getting exactly what he deserves.”

“How could you do this to someone who has only ever shown you unwavering love and devotion?”

Morgana made a disparaging sound. She had been deluded enough to believe that Uther cared for her, once. It was not a mistake she would make again. “He doesn’t love me, he despises me.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t see him that year when you were missing, Morgana. He was devastated. He didn’t sleep, he barely ate, he could think of nothing but you. He was willing to go to any lengths, make any sacrifice, to get you back, safe and whole. And all that time, you were plotting against him?”

“He gave me no choice! I am magic, Arthur. If he had learned who I am, he would have had me executed.”

“No. You’re wrong. He could never have found it within himself to harm you.”

“Even if that were true, do you really think he would have allowed me to roam around freely? He would have locked me away in some dungeon, claiming that he was doing me a kindness by protecting me from myself. That is not _love,_ Arthur. I would be a prisoner in my own home, all for the supposed crime of being born with magic. I could never live like that. I _refuse_ to live like that. I would rather die.”

The silence that followed her pronouncement was deafening. Arthur looked as though she had struck him full across the face.

He looked as though he was about to cry.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Morgana could not recall a time when she had ever managed to render him speechless. It was immensely satisfying, but also… oddly distressing. If she thought she had hurt him with the revelation that she was his sister, it was nothing compared to the damage she seemed to have inflicted now. She didn’t even know what it was she had said to evoke this reaction. She hadn’t seen such an expression of utter devastation on his face since the day he had returned from his quest to retrieve the Cup of Life.

Since the day he had lost Merlin.

Where _was_ his ever-present shadow, anyway?

ooOOoo


	26. Chapter 26

“Arthur, whatever have you done with your manservant?” Morgana asked. “Don’t tell me that you have misplaced him _again.”_

It would have been kinder if she had slammed a mace into his chest. The pain in his heart was sharp and sudden and all-consuming. If he looked down, he was sure he would see blood seeping through Merlin’s armour.

The armour he was wearing because Merlin was _gone._

Oh gods, Merlin had left him. Merlin had left _Camelot._ Merlin was gone and he was never coming back.

Arthur had loved him and he had kept him imprisoned with a collar and that _wasn’t love_ , that was as far from love as it was possible to get. He had taken a good, loyal man who had _loved him_ and he had broken his faith, broken his trust, broken his _heart._

He had destroyed everything. He had lost his best friend, and for _what?_

Merlin didn’t need his protection, didn’t ask for it. Merlin was more powerful than any person Arthur had ever met, but Arthur had _shackled him_ , and Merlin had _let him do it_. Merlin had refused to leave his side, even after Arthur had abandoned him in Jarl’s fortress, even after Arthur had condemned him to a year in hell, even after Arthur had rejected his magic, even after Arthur had forced him to return to work when injured, even after Arthur had endangered his life, even after Arthur had _tried to force himself on him_. Torturing him hadn’t even been the final straw. No. It was Arthur’s choice to use Merlin’s magic when _he_ needed it that had finally broken him. Broken _them_.

There was no going back from that. There was nothing Arthur could do to fix what he had done.

Merlin was _gone_. Love and loyalty hadn’t been enough to keep him here anymore. He had gotten _out_ and that was good, he should have gotten out a long, long time ago. Merlin was right, on that very first day, he could never, _should_ never, have a friend who could be such an _ass._

Arthur had not deserved a single ounce of the devotion that Merlin had shown him.

Merlin deserved so, so much better.

And… maybe Morgana did, too.

“I’m sorry, Morgana,” he rasped.

She stared at him in shock.

He dragged his thoughts out from the fog of grief and despair, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. “You’re right. Being condemned for something you were born with is a terrible injustice. I’m sorry that you couldn’t feel safe or accepted in your own home. I’m sorry that you lived in fear. I’m sorry that you had no one to confide in. I’m sorry that you had to look elsewhere for the love and family you should have had here with us.”

He could tell from the stunned expression on her face that an apology was the last thing she had expected to hear from him.

It took a long, flustered moment for her to recover her composure. “Does this mean you’ll do it? Will you renounce your claim to the throne and swear fealty to me as your new Queen?”

There was a time when Arthur had genuinely wondered whether Morgana might be more suited to rule Camelot than he was. She learned faster, made quicker decisions, spoke more passionately, cared more for the people.

But the Morgana who stood before him now did not have the best interests of Camelot at heart. He could not, in good conscience, abandon the people to her rule. He would not.

“No, Morgana. You did not choose to have magic, but there are other choices that you _have_ made. You assassinated an ally, invited war upon these lands, murdered Knights of Camelot, and staged an insurrection against our king. Those are crimes, Morgana. You are not fit to be Queen, and I will not abdicate the throne to you.”

Her features contorted with rage. “Then you will die, Arthur Pendragon, and your people will die with you.”

She stretched out a hand and words of magic began to spill from her lips.

Arthur was helpless to stand, to move, to fight or even to flee. He was certain that the tell-tale flare of gold in her eyes would be the last thing he ever saw, and he braced himself for the end.

“ _STOP_!”

The shout echoed through the throne room with unnatural volume and an almost palpable resonance of power.

Arthur wished he could turn around, but the spell was crippling him and it took all of his remaining strength just to remain upright. It didn’t matter, though. He would know that voice anywhere.

He couldn’t believe that Merlin had come back.

“ _You_!” Morgana shrieked. “Why is it always _you?_ Showing up at the worst times in the worst places, foiling my plans, thwarting me at every turn! Why won’t you just _die_ and _stay dead!”_

There were no enchantments this time, just a wordless scream of rage. Fire flared in her palm and shot past Arthur, scorching his ear even as it hurtled towards its intended target.

Fear for Merlin’s life bolted through him, and his muscles suddenly remembered that they were supposed to move at his command. He spun just in time to see the fire strike. He cried out, but Merlin was unfazed. He simply rotated his wrist and, rather than burn straight through him, the fire seemed to absorb into his skin.

Surprise rippled through the crowd.

Although Arthur had known about Merlin’s magic for months, it still felt like an earth-shattering revelation to see him wield such tremendous power. Gone was the clumsy, unassuming manservant, and in his place stood Camelot’s mightiest defender.

Arthur glanced back to Morgana to see her reaction.

Her eyes were practically boggling out of her skull. “You have magic? _You_ have _magic?”_ Her voice had reached a hysterical pitch.

“Yes,” Merlin answered calmly. “You need to leave now, Morgana.”

“I’m not going anywhere! Camelot is _mine_.”

“You heard Arthur. You are not fit to be Queen.”

“Not fit? _Not fit?_ Uther is nothing but an empty shell, and Arthur doesn’t even have the strength to stand. I am the _only_ person fit to rule. I also happen to be the only person who stands a chance of protecting Camelot from Caerleon’s army.”

Merlin waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve got that covered.”

“You? On your own? You may have magic, but you cannot possibly stand against an entire army.”

“And you think you can?”

“I have a plan.”

“Oh yes.” He pulled a scroll from his pocket and opened it to scan the contents. “You intend to murder Queen Annis, and use the ritual of _Gebisgian_ to cripple Caerleon’s army. Not a terrible plan. I mean, it worked for you once, right?”

“Where did you get that?”

“Well, you sent it to Morgause, but she was a little – indisposed, so I took the message.”

Morgana went dangerously still. “What did you do to her?”

“She’s fine,” Merlin said, his tone flippant and unconcerned. “Got a little tangled in some vines and decided to take a nap against the base of a tree, that’s all.”

“You attacked my sister?”

All of a sudden, Merlin was deadly serious. “You attacked Camelot.”

“I did what was necessary for people like us.”

“This is not the way to gain peace, Morgana.”

“I don’t want _peace_. I want freedom.”

Merlin cocked his head a little. “I can understand that. But you will not find it here. Go collect your sister from the Darkling Woods, and leave Camelot far behind you. I’m giving you this chance. You will not get another.”

“You cannot threaten me!”

“I think you’ll find that I can. Our magic aside, you have lost your chance to gain control of Caerleon’s army, and I have all the evidence I need to prove to him that you are not only responsible for the murder of his father, but you also conspired to murder his wife. Somehow, I don’t think he will take kindly to that.”

“Tell him anything you like,” Morgana blustered, although Arthur could tell it was false bravado. “It doesn’t matter. He will still attack Camelot, and the city will still fall. The spell cannot be broken. Camelot is _weak._ You need me.”

“Not really.” Merlin leaned down and scooped up a sword from the ground. “This should be too heavy for me to lift, shouldn’t it? But your spell doesn’t seem to be working on me.”

“Because you have magic.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, that’s not the reason. Uther is the source of the spell, and anyone loyal to him has lost their strength. But Uther is not the man I pledged my loyalty to.”

Merlin looked directly at Arthur for the first time since he had entered the room, and Arthur’s heart stuttered. It seemed surreal that Merlin could be here, after everything.

The meaning of Merlin’s words was lost on him, but Morgana’s gaze shifted between them and then her eyes widened in horror. “ _No!”_

A small, confident smile twitched at his lips. “Long live Prince Arthur,” Merlin said.

He was one man, in simple peasant clothing, standing tall in the midst of a crowd brought low by Morgana’s sorcery. Every person in the room had heard his words, but for most, understanding remained just out of reach.

Not so, for the knight who had known and trusted Merlin for years.

“Long live Prince Arthur!” Leon declared. And then, again, with wonder in his tone: “Long live Prince Arthur!” He picked up a nearby sword and stood to his feet without any sign of strain or fatigue. A fierce grin spread across his face and he thrust the point of his blade into the air. “Long live Prince Arthur!”

Others took up the cry and all around the room, men and women began to stand up.

Barely a few minutes ago, Morgana had been in complete control. But her control was slipping with every passing second, as more and more people declared their fealty to Arthur. Merlin had eradicated her carefully laid plans and decimated her spell in one fell blow. It was an incredible, inspiring moment.

But Arthur could not declare loyalty to himself. He couldn’t betray his father, not while Uther still drew breath. As hard as he tried to fight against it, the weakness remained within him.

And Morgana still had her magic.

With the enthusiastic cries of his people reverberating around him, Arthur could not hear the words on Morgana’s lips. But he saw the gold burning in her eyes.

He tried to move out of the way, to escape the powerful blast of magic that she sent hurtling towards him, but his body wouldn’t respond to him. He was helpless to do anything but watch as death came for him at last.

In a small, unexpected moment of cowardice, he prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t hurt, and that it would be over quickly.

But it did hurt. Rather a lot, actually. Something ploughed into him from the side and he hit the floor hard, the impact against cold stone jarring every bone in his body. Then someone’s weight landed on top of him, layering bruises on top of his bruises, and he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pain.

Groaning meant he was alive, though. Impossibly, it seemed he had escaped death once again.

He should have known that Merlin was the one responsible.

“You always save me,” he exhaled into familiar dark brown hair, not even caring that it was tickling his nose or that Merlin’s elbow was digging into his ribs. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, but his muscles still refused to do his bidding. That was for the best, he thought hazily. He needed to ask permission first if he was going to hug him. Merlin was free and he should be able to make his own choices about that kind of thing. Arthur tried to form the words, but he couldn’t quite get them in the right sequence, so he settled for saying “thank you” instead.

“It’s a bad habit that I just can’t seem to break,” Merlin quipped back, before rolling off him. The release of pressure was the opposite of a good feeling, and Merlin’s voice seemed distant as he shot off a few spells.

Morgana. Still a threat. Arthur should do something about that. But he just. Couldn’t. Move.

There was more shouting, a few clangs of metal and a weird rush of wind, but then Merlin’s voice was back, comfortingly close.

“Your allegiance is to Camelot and her people, Prince Arthur.”

Oh. That was true. Arthur loved his father, but he had never hesitated to argue with him, or even outright disobey, when the kingdom was at stake. Camelot needed him, now more than ever.

Warmth spread through him, and clarity returned. He sat up. Although his body twinged, the bruises weren’t more than he could handle. He accepted Merlin’s hand, and was pulled to his feet.

The people cheered; a cry of victory. He looked around, but there was no sign of Morgana.

“She teleported away,” Merlin explained.

Arthur knew she should face justice for her crimes, but a part of him was glad that she had escaped. She was his sister, after all – always had been, even before he knew they were related by blood – and the love he felt for her could not be easily dismissed, even after what she had done.

He wondered, helplessly, uselessly, if there was any chance that Merlin felt a similar way about him. But he had no right to ask. Merlin’s return in their most desperate hour was already far more than he deserved.

“You could have become just like her,” Arthur realised. The anger that Merlin had every right to feel could have easily turned to bitterness and hatred. “After everything I- You could have sought vengeance, or left Camelot to its fate. But instead, you have saved all of us. Merlin, how can I ever-”

“Caerleon is nearly here,” Merlin interrupted.

Arthur wished he could take the time to make amends, if such a thing were even possible, but Camelot was still in peril, and leadership had fallen to him. “Sir Leon-”

“On it, sire!” Leon snapped curtly. He spared a brief moment to offer Merlin a nod of respect, before turning to his duties. “Soldiers, on me!” He swept through the crowd and the other knights followed in his wake, making haste towards armour, weapons and their designated posts.

Arthur knew he needed to go with them, but he lingered at Merlin’s side, struggling to find something, anything he could say.

Merlin held up the scroll he had intercepted from Morgana. “There is a chance I can stop this war before it begins.”

It was a good idea, but it was also an incredibly dangerous one. “Here, I’ll take it,” Arthur said. “This is my responsibility.”

“No.” Merlin closed his fist tightly around the parchment.

“I won’t let you risk your life-”

“ _Let_ me?” Merlin echoed, and the very air seemed to ripple around him. This was no meek servant that Arthur was dealing with; this was a powerful warlock, and he would not be dictated to.

Arthur quickly backtracked. “What I mean is, I cannot ask that of you. I know you are more than capable of looking after yourself, but Caerleon-”

“I stand a far better chance against him than you do. And you have a kingdom to run.”

“Merlin-”

“I’m going, Arthur.” There was steel in his tone, and Arthur knew he would not change his mind.

He relented, however reluctantly. “Just… please be careful.”

“I will.”

Merlin headed for the doors, and Arthur had a sudden, dreadful thought. “Merlin?”

He looked back, and Arthur was struck for the thousandth time by how beautiful he was.

He swallowed nervously. He had to ask the question, but he was afraid to know the answer. “Are you going to come back?”

Merlin regarded him for a long, silent moment. “I don’t know.”

Arthur’s heart plummeted through the floor, but he tried not to let it show on his face. “Well, there will be a place here waiting for you, whenever you’re ready. If you want it.”

His blank expression gave nothing away. “I appreciate that,” Merlin said.

And then he was gone.

ooOOoo


	27. Chapter 27

Camelot was battle-ready in record time, but the attack from Caerleon’s army never came.

Instead, a delegation arrived early the next morning. Arthur rode out to meet them with a small contingent of knights, unwilling to risk inviting them within the city walls. Sir Leon was a steady presence at his side, but he felt Merlin’s absence keenly.

He couldn’t help but remember the decapitated head that Caerleon had thrown at his feet last time, and the threat of his blade at Merlin’s throat. He worried that letting Merlin go alone had been a terrible mistake. But with no collar to hold him back, his magic should have been enough to protect him. Arthur had to trust that Merlin was safe. He didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t.

“Hail, Prince Arthur,” Queen Annis greeted him. She must have been sent to negotiate on her husband’s behalf, just as Arthur was representing his father.

Not that Uther was in any condition to negotiate, even if he had been aware that it was necessary. He barely seemed conscious of his surroundings and had not responded when Arthur told him of the delegation’s approach. Gaius said that being the centre of such a powerful spell would have taken a lot out of him, and suggested that he just needed time to rest. Arthur wanted to believe him, but he had seen the uncertainty in the physician’s eyes, and he harboured doubts of his own.

He feared that Morgana’s betrayal had broken Uther’s spirit, and such a wound would be slow to heal, if it ever did.

Arthur knew that the people were looking to him to lead, and he silently swore to do his best – for them, and for his father.

He inclined his head to his counterpart. “Queen Annis.”

They both dismounted, while their knights took up formation behind them.

“We received an unexpected visitor last night,” Annis opened.

Arthur tensed. _Merlin’s not dead._

“I can see now why you hold your manservant in such high regard. There are few men who would be so bold as to walk directly into an enemy’s camp, alone and unarmed, on the eve of battle.”

A pang of guilt shot through him as Arthur remembered that he had been wearing Merlin’s armour. Merlin had only the shirt on his back, and the scroll in his pocket – plus his magic. That was the crucial element, the difference between a suicide mission and the possibility of success. Merlin wasn’t dead.

“Did you grant him an audience?”

Annis raised an eyebrow. “Did we have a choice? The last time we angered him, he nearly obliterated our throne room.”

Arthur had been unconscious at the time, but if the incident had borne any similarities to their escape from Jarl’s fortress, he could well imagine the sheer force of power that Merlin had brought against them.

“It was not intended as a threat,” he said carefully.

“No. He made it clear that his intention was to save lives, not take them.”

“He showed you the letter?”

She drew it from her robes, along with the bloodied assassin’s note. “The handwriting is a match,” she said. “It seems that Morgana not only conspired to have me murdered, and my husband overthrown, but is also responsible for the assassination of our King.”

Arthur gave a grim nod. “She is an enemy of both our people.”

“I understand that she escaped.”

“She did.” Arthur had sent riders out to the Darkling Woods, but aside from a spilled cauldron and torn-up earth, there was no sign of either Morgana or Morgause.

Annis pursed her lips. “That is unfortunate. We would have preferred that she face justice for her crimes.”

“When we find her, she will.” By then, Arthur hoped that he would be able to separate his feelings about the woman he once knew from his knowledge of the person she had become.

“Though she may have acted of her own volition, the truth remains that Morgana Pendragon is a daughter of Camelot. It would not be unreasonable for my husband to demand recompense for what she has done.”

Arthur stiffened, and he sensed the knights behind him make a shift towards their weapons.

“However,” Annis continued, “I dissuaded him from taking any further action against your people. We were both betrayed, and our soldiers should not pay the price for Morgana’s deception.”

Arthur exhaled a sigh of relief, and his knights relaxed. “You are wise and gracious, my lady.”

“We officially retract our accusations against Camelot, and withdraw our declaration of war. Our army will be gone from your lands by nightfall.”

Arthur bowed. “Thank you, your highness.”

Annis nodded, and turned to mount her horse. But before she left, she looked back to him.

“A loyal servant is hard to come by, and one such as Merlin is rarer than most.”

His heart ached. “I know.” He should never have taken Merlin for granted.

“You have many difficult decisions to make in the coming days, Arthur Pendragon. I asked you once, if you would rule as your father did. What you do now will define the man that you become, and shape the future for all the people of Camelot. Choose wisely.”

With those final words, Annis and her knights departed.

ooOOoo

Merlin did not return.

Arthur waited. Hours stretched into days, and days stretched into weeks.

Every morning, Arthur hoped to wake to blinding light as his curtains were swept aside and a cheerful voice telling him to “rise and shine!” But when he opened his eyes, it was always Haden standing over him. He went through the motions of eating his breakfast, attending council meetings, and receiving petitioners, all the while hoping to hear the door creak with Merlin’s arrival.

But he never came.

Lunch was spent in his father’s chambers, trying gently to coax him to eat something. Uther stared vacantly at the stone walls, barely acknowledging Arthur’s presence. Grief hung heavy in the air, reminding Arthur of everything he had lost. His sister. His father. The love of his life.

If he lingered too long, he was in danger of slipping into the same listless melancholy that had overcome his father. But Guinevere would come to relieve him after an hour or so, giving Arthur’s shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance as he left to take up the mantle of Acting Regent once more.

Sir Leon had assumed responsibility for the guard rosters and active patrols, but Arthur still liked to be involved in the training of the knights. Donning armour was yet another reminder of his absent friend, but the physicality of trading blows helped to distract him for a time. He noticed that the men had a new appreciation for their strength, but had begun to prioritise speed and agility. Every move they made was sharper, smarter. They were truly becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Arthur focused the rest of his time and energy on securing Camelot’s alliances with their neighbouring kingdoms. He did not wish to see a repeat of what had happened with Caerleon, and he harboured some concerns that Morgana would try to incite more conflict. But, surprisingly, even kings such as Cenred seemed eager to make peace.

“Word has reached them about what happened here, sire,” one scout explained. “They know now that Camelot is well defended.”

Arthur was confused for a moment, not sure how falling victim to a spell that caused the mass-weakening of his entire population had given that impression.

But then the answer came to him. Merlin. News about his magic must have spread. People believed that there was a powerful sorcerer at the heart of Camelot, and they wouldn’t dare attack while he stood in defence of the kingdom.

Even when he wasn’t here, Merlin was still protecting them.

Before Arthur knew it, a month had passed. No one had seen or heard from Merlin in all that time, not even Gaius.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Arthur asked dully. He visited the physician’s chambers every day, hoping for even the smallest scrap of correspondence that would let him know where Merlin was, or at least that he was safe. But there was nothing, except the familiar scent of herbs that had always clung to Merlin’s clothing. Inhaling the aroma intensified the ache within him, but it also brought some small measure of comfort.

Gaius glanced up from the tincture he was mixing. “Perhaps he needs a reason, sire.”

They were wise words. But even if Merlin could be found, what reason could Arthur give him? _I love you? I miss you? I’m sorry?_

It wasn’t enough.

“You want Merlin to come home. Have you stopped to ask yourself what it is that he wants?”

Guilt swept over Arthur again. “He wants his freedom.”

Gaius stoppered the vial and set it down on the bench. He gave Arthur a hard look. “Are you sure about that?”

“He asked me to release him from the collar, and he left. What more proof do you need?”

“He could have asked that of you from the beginning. Why did he stay then, but not now?”

Arthur didn’t want to tell the whole, sordid story. Gaius would be ashamed of him, and rightly so. “I made some mistakes,” he confessed. “A lot of terrible, unforgivable mistakes.”

“I think that if you think it over carefully, sire, you will find that it is not what you did. It is what you didn’t do.”

Arthur thought back to their conversation in the forest. He had been preoccupied by Merlin’s admission of love, and the fact that he was leaving.

He hadn’t paid enough attention to _why._

_“You didn’t release my magic because you believe it can be a force for good, or because you trust me. You didn’t do it because you’ve changed your stance on sorcery. You didn’t do it because you regret keeping me collared like an animal, or because you think I should be free.”_

It was about freedom. But not just for Merlin. What he wanted was so much bigger, and it would change everything.

Arthur realised what he had to do.

ooOOoo

Merlin sat in the corner of a tavern, quietly nursing a tankard of mead, trying to be as unobtrusive and unnoticeable as possible.

Someone noticed him anyway.

“Here’s trouble!” a familiar voice crowed. An arm was thrown around his shoulders, and Merlin found himself face-to-face with a grinning Gwaine. “Not here to start another brawl, are yeh?”

“Gwaine!” The smile was infectious, and Merlin yanked his friend into a hug before pulling back to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, this is my turf! I should be asking you that.”

There was a long-winded explanation that Merlin could have given, but he decided to keep it simple. “I was thirsty.”

“Oh yeah?” Gwaine questioned slyly. “That wouldn’t happen to be because you spent most of the morning single-handedly demolishing a fortress, would it?”

Merlin flushed. “You heard about that?”

Gwaine guffawed. “All of Essetir heard about that! I think you had King Cenred pissing in his pants.”

“I let his soldiers evacuate first,” Merlin hedged.

Gwaine only laughed harder. “Oh, I wish I could have seen it. The biggest, baddest fighters in the land, fleeing from a gangly menace in a red neckerchief.”

“Hey, I’ve filled out some.”

Gwaine gave his bicep an appreciative squeeze. “Hell yeah, you have. You’re looking good, Merlin. Freedom suits you.”

Merlin wasn’t so sure about that. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly just been wandering about aimlessly.”

“When you’re not busy destroying the last stronghold of slavery in the Five Kingdoms?”

Merlin shrugged. “That was unfinished business.” It had never felt right to him that he had left his fellow slaves behind. He didn’t want to provoke another attack on Camelot, but their plight had gnawed at his conscience until he had to take action.

Going back there had brought back a lot of horrible memories, but watching every last stone crumble to dust beneath his hand had been very therapeutic.

“You’ll be glad to know that Briac has also been dealt with. Permanently.”

Merlin blinked in surprise. “You killed him?”

Gwaine was normally an easy-going guy, but there was no nonsense in his expression and a steely flint in his eyes when he answered. “Briac hurt a friend of mine. He got what was coming to him.”

Briac was dead.

A tension that Merlin hadn’t even realised he was holding onto suddenly released, and he slumped bonelessly back into his chair. “It’s over.”

Gwaine’s face gentled into a smile. “Yeah, mate. It’s over.”

“I… don’t actually know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Whatever you want. You can go anywhere, do anything. There’s nothing tying you down, nothing holding you back. You’re free.”

“It sounds good. In theory,” Merlin sighed.

Gwaine looked him over, and understanding dawned in his eyes. “You want to go home.”

Merlin winced. “It’s stupid, I know. There’s nothing there for me anymore. I’m better off leaving that life far behind.”

“It’s not freedom if its something you’ve been forced into,” Gwaine said.

“I chose this.”

“Because you thought you had no other choice. That might not be the case anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve heard rumours. Nothing I can confirm personally, you understand – I’m still not allowed past the border. But taverns are the best places to pick up gossip, from travelling merchants and the like. There’s been talk about a lot of changes happening in Camelot.”

“Such as?”

“The legalisation of magic, for one thing.”

“ _What?!”_

Merlin didn’t realise he had spoken so loudly until everyone in the tavern turned to look at him. He coughed and quickly hid his face behind his tankard of mead, gulping hastily and then coughing for real as it went down the wrong pipe.

Gwaine thumped him on the back. “Whoa, take it easy.”

“Did I hear you right?” Merlin rasped. “Magic is legal?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“But-but Uther would never-” Merlin sputtered.

“It wasn’t Uther. That whole business with Morgana really messed with his head, and he hasn’t been the same since. Prince Arthur has had to step up.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “So… so you’re saying that _Arthur…_ ”

“Made an official decree that magic was no longer outlawed in Camelot,” Gwaine confirmed.

Merlin was stunned.

“And that’s not all. Bounty hunting and slave trading have been officially banned. He has given remunerations to the druids, and offered citizenship to any who want it. He has signed off on the medicinal use of magical potions and poultices. There has even been chatter about the possibility of a new position in the royal court – something along the lines of a Magical Advisor to the King?”

Merlin could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

“I might enjoy the occasional tall tale, but I wouldn’t do that to you, mate.”

“But- how could Arthur go against his father like that? _Why_ would he?”

Gwaine tipped his head and gave a dopey grin, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “To get laid?”

Merlin flushed a deep crimson. “That’s not- I mean, we’re not- He and I aren’t-”

“Merlin, a blind man could see the way you two feel about each other. Not that I think that Princess Dollop-head is anywhere close to being good enough for you, but- well. You looked pretty miserable, sitting here all on your lonesome. And I know Arthur has made a horrible mess of things, but it sounds like he is going to some pretty extreme lengths to make it up to you.”

The tips of his ears were burning so much he was sure they were about to spontaneously combust. “I don’t want him to change the laws on magic if it’s just some kind of- misguided attempt to- to woo me.”

“He could have just offered you a pardon. I mean, Camelot would have been wiped off the map if it weren’t for you; I’m pretty sure no one in their right mind would have objected. But instead, he has made sure that magic is not only accepted, but _embraced_ in his kingdom. I don’t think he would have done that if he didn’t believe it was the right thing to do.”

Gwaine made a good point; Arthur had always put Camelot first. He wouldn’t jeopardise the safety of his people.

“He… really changed his mind about magic,” Merlin said wonderingly.

“You must have convinced him that it could be a force for good.”

Tears sprang to Merlin’s eyes. That was all he had ever wanted.

“Hey, now, don’t get all teary on me, you’re supposed to be happy!”

Merlin gave a watery laugh. “I am. Oh gods, I am.” He had given up hope that this day would ever come. He had convinced himself that Arthur couldn’t be the Once and Future King after all, that there was no such thing as destiny, that his heart had misled him, that they weren’t fated to be together.

But Arthur had proved him wrong.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin downed the rest of his ale and stood up. A grin split his face. “I’m going home.”

ooOOoo


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for explicit (and enthusiastically consensual) sex.

Arthur was drowning in a sea of ink and parchment. He had thought that the role of Crown Prince came with far too many reports and speeches, but as Acting Regent there seemed to be no end to the paperwork. He lost track of the number of times he signed his name, the number of orders he sent out, the number of requests he approved, the number of missives he read, the number of numbers he scanned until they all seemed to blur together. A headache pounded mercilessly in his skull, and the scratching of his quill was scraping at his nerves.

He might not have minded, if staying busy had managed to keep his mind off Merlin, but he was constantly, keenly, achingly aware of his absence, every minute of every day.

Gods, he missed him.

But he was beginning to come to terms with the possibility that Merlin was gone forever. He had done everything he could, short of hunting him down, and if Merlin wasn’t going to return on his own, Arthur knew there was no point going after him. He wasn’t going to force Merlin to do anything he didn’t want to, not ever again.

If he had to spend the rest of his life alone and lonely, it was nothing more than he deserved.

He could at least take solace in knowing that his kingdom had become happier, healthier, wealthier and more vibrant with the return of magic. He’d experienced some trepidation about his choice to act in such bold opposition to his father, but he had been met with surprisingly little resistance, and the results were even better than he had hoped for. Crops were flourishing, illness and infirmity were in sharp decline, and Camelot had never been more prosperous. Best of all, the weight of fear was gone, replaced by joy and laughter as wondrous magic danced through the streets.

He wished that Merlin could see it, but it was enough that this was the legacy that Merlin had left behind. His name and great deeds would never be forgotten, and the love Arthur had for him would never fade. It was tucked away safely in the deepest corner of his heart, carefully tended, along with the smallest flickering flame of hope that couldn’t quite be extinguished.

Arthur sealed another scroll and was reaching tiredly for the next when he heard a knock at the door.

He withheld a sigh, setting down his quill and pointlessly trying to wipe some of the ink off his stained fingers. “Come!”

The door creaked open. He lifted his gaze, and was met with a pair of stunning blue eyes.

For a moment, he was certain that his mind was playing tricks on him, showing him what he wanted to see, but he blinked and the vision did not disappear.

“Merlin!” Arthur shoved back his chair and leapt to his feet. “You’re back!” He rushed forward, only to pull himself up short, trying to show restraint. “Are you back? Or is this just a visit? I don’t mind if it is, not at all, it’s great to see you, it’s better than great, it’s-”

“I’m back, Arthur,” Merlin said, but he lingered in the doorway with a wide empty corridor behind him.

“You can stay,” Arthur blurted. “I’d like you to stay. I mean, you’re welcome here. That is to say, your magic is. You and your magic, anyone with magic, actually, as long as they’re not using it to hurt anyone, I passed a law about it, I don’t know if you heard-”

His words were cut off as Merlin stepped forward and the door swung closed with a muffled thud. “Gwaine told me.”

“Gwaine.” Arthur bobbed his head; it made sense that Merlin had reconnected with his best friend. “Right, that reminds me, I’ve been meaning to get him pardoned, too, it’s on my to-do list, I’m certain that I wrote it down, it’s got to be beneath that mountain of paperwork somewhere-”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. Arthur was startled to find that he had moved again, and was now standing a few scant feet away from him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Did he not look fine? He _hadn’t_ been fine, not for the past month, or most of the two years prior, but Merlin was _here_ , and it was everything he had ever needed or wanted. “I’m more than fine. This is- you are- you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Merlin agreed.

“Have I apologised yet? I don’t think I’ve said sorry enough. I am sorry, you know. I’m sorry-”

Merlin stepped closer. “I know, Arthur.”

The proximity was making his senses go haywire, but Arthur stubbornly stamped them into submission. “You don’t have to worry about any more unwelcome advances from me. I promise that I have my feelings under control, I’m not going to harass you, it’s enough that you’re here, more than enough, I swear I’ll never take you for granted ever again-”

Merlin placed a hand on his arm. “Arthur, you’re rambling.”

“Right.” Arthur sucked back the flow of words, trying to calm himself. “Sorry.”

The corner of Merlin’s lip curled up. “Is it my turn to talk?”

Arthur nodded dumbly.

There was a long pause as Merlin gathered his thoughts. When he spoke, it was with blunt, brutal honesty. “You told me you loved me while I had a collar around my neck.”

Arthur flinched and looked away. There was nothing he could say in his own defence. He knew that what he had done was inexcusable.

A gentle palm cupped his cheek, bringing his gaze back. “The collar is gone now,” Merlin reminded him. “My magic is restored. I am no longer your prisoner, and I am no longer your servant. So, my question to you is this: Do you still love me?”

“I only thought I loved you before,” Arthur admitted. “I was wrong.”

Wounded by the clumsy words, Merlin began to pull away, but Arthur caught his hand and hurried to explain. “No, you misunderstand me. I was wrong because I had no idea what love was. I thought I loved you in spite of your magic. I thought it was a disease that I could somehow cut out, but all I did was hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that.

“You don’t just have magic, you _are_ magic, Merlin. You’re a wonder, one of nature’s most beautiful creations, and I couldn’t have loved you before because what I felt for you then pales in comparison to what I feel for you now. I’m in love with you, all of you, for exactly who and what you are. I love you, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Prove it,” he whispered.

“How?” Arthur asked immediately, leaping on the chance to show Merlin just how loved he really was. “Anything, I’ll do anything, just tell me what you need me to do-”

“Kiss me.”

Arthur’s heart slammed to a halt, and he would have dropped dead on the spot if it wasn’t for the fact that he had just heard Merlin say the improbable, the impossible, and he had to know, he _had to know_ that he hadn’t just imagined those words being spoken aloud. “What?”

Merlin’s voice dropped low. “I _said_ : kiss me.”

Desire roared to life within him, as fierce and passionate as a raging inferno. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to immediately fist his hands in Merlin’s hair, drag him in close and claim his mouth in a rough, merciless clash of teeth and tongues.

Arthur could not deny him, not with those eyes darkened to midnight blue and practically devouring him whole, but nor could he rush headlong into this. Not until he was absolutely certain that this was what Merlin wanted.

Cautiously, carefully, trembling with the effort of his restraint, Arthur leaned in and brushed the softest of kisses across Merlin’s lips.

Merlin’s breath shuddered against his skin. “Arthur,” he whispered. His eyes had slid closed, and tears clung to his lashes. “Please.”

Arthur had to taste him again, it had suddenly become as essential to him as breathing, but he only allowed himself the briefest moment of contact before he pulled away. “Are you sure? I have to know that you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Arthur. I want you. I _need_ you, and if you make me wait one second longer, I swear-”

Arthur swallowed the rest of his sentence, and did his level best to swallow Merlin’s tongue along with it. Merlin startled, but an instant later he was plastered against Arthur’s chest, clawing hands up the back of his shirt, groaning into his mouth. There was nothing delicate about this kiss. It was raw, open-mouthed and hungry, almost violent in its intensity, and Arthur feared that he was losing control until he realised that he had never been in control at all. Merlin was running the show, nipping at his lips and delving into his mouth and provoking his tongue into battling with his own. Arthur grappled for a hand-hold, grasping at his shoulder, skimming down his arm, settling at his waist, only to have his grip torn away by the insistent removal of his tunic. Merlin gave him no pause for breath, slamming their mouths back together even as he tossed the fabric aside and reached for Arthur’s belt.

“Are you sure?” Arthur gasped, struggling to remain cognizant while the blood from his brain rushed south. “Merlin, if this is too fast-”

“It’s not fast enough,” Merlin growled. “Touch me, Arthur. I want your hands, I want your mouth, I want-” His words dissolved into a groan as Arthur relented, yanking down his own trousers so there was nothing standing in Merlin’s way.

It was Arthur’s turn to groan when hot, rough fingers curled around him. He thrust into their loose grip and sparks of pleasure ricocheted through his body.

“Oh, I’ve wanted this,” Merlin said. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted- unngghh.”

Arthur’s hands had slipped under his waistband, stroking and kneading firm globes of flesh and groping towards even more intimate territory. “You are wearing too many clothes,” Arthur murmured into his ear.

“Then _do something about it,”_ Merlin hissed.

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. He stripped Merlin with brisk military efficiency, refusing to be waylaid by sculpted muscles and acres of pale skin, until Merlin was laid bare before him. Then he looked his fill, drinking in every curve and every line, every perfection and every scar.

“You,” he said, and it was the only thing he could say because they were kissing again, pressed up against each other with no more barriers between them.

He didn’t have to ask anymore. He could feel Merlin’s arousal in the frantic grasp of his hands, in the desperation of his kisses, in the graze of raised nipples and the thrust of his hard length. Merlin began shoving him towards the bed and Arthur went willingly, falling onto his back and tugging Merlin between his legs.

It was Merlin’s turn to pause, his breathing erratic, his hair a dishevelled mess and his eyes wild as he took in the sight of his prince spread out beneath him.

“Like this?” he asked breathlessly.

Merlin’s pupils had blown so wide that only the thinnest ring of blue remained. He looked at Arthur like he was the entire world, and Arthur couldn’t help but arch up to claim his lips again. He tasted like a thunderstorm, like lightning and rain and rolling thunder, like a force of nature that could crash over him and sweep him away but was instead restoring life to a desert parched with thirst.

But Merlin was rocking against him with increasing fervour, and Arthur realised that he could have _more._

“Like this,” he confirmed, hitching his knees up. “There’s oil in the drawer.”

Merlin sprawled over him in an ungainly attempt to reach the bedside table without losing contact, but he had to wriggle higher, and an opportunity presented itself that Arthur was helpless to resist. He tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and swallowed Merlin’s cock whole.

He was rewarded with an incoherent cry and a reflexive thrust down his throat that nearly choked him. But when Merlin stammered an apology and tried to pull back, Arthur seized a handful of his ass and dragged him back in.

_“Ar-thur,”_ Merlin gasped.

His mouth was too full to reply, so he hummed, and licked, and sucked instead, trying to find the best angle, trying to take him deeper, until Merlin was a shivering mess above him.

“ _Arthur_ \- if you don’t- _ah_! If you don’t stop, I’m going to-”

Arthur pulled off hastily, not ready for this to be over just yet. “The oil,” he prompted hoarsely, shocked to hear how wrecked his own voice had become.

Merlin was flushed and dazed, his cock dark and throbbing where it hung poised over Arthur’s swollen lips. Arthur couldn’t resist lapping a bead of pre-come from the head, and there was a frozen moment when he thought he might have just pushed Merlin over the edge.

In an incredible act of self-control, Merlin clenched one hand around the base of his cock and yanked open the drawer with the other. His fumbling fingers found the bottle, and he shimmied back down the bed. Arthur spread his knees further to accommodate him. The oil was spilled liberally, over Merlin’s hand and his cock and Arthur’s own straining arousal and his abdomen and the crack of his ass, and a significant quantity probably ended up on the bedspread too, but neither of them cared. It was cold and slippery at first, but the heat coming off them both was scorching, and soon everything became warm and slick and _good,_ so good.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur groaned.

Clever fingers skimmed his length, fondled his balls and then slipped lower.

Arthur flung his head back as his entrance was breached, with just a tip that massaged the tight rim of muscle before gradually sinking down to the first knuckle.

“Oh. _Oh_ , Merlin, that’s-”

Merlin pushed further and it burned, but Arthur had never felt anything so incredible in his life. He pulsed against the intrusion, somehow pushing and pulling him in at the same time. Merlin adopted a matching rhythm, hinting at what was to come, and Arthur needed them to get there a hell of a lot faster.

“Another,” he begged.

Merlin obediently slipped a second finger alongside the first, stretching him almost painfully, but Merlin was _inside_ him and it was so, so worth it. Arthur’s muscles rippled with tension and surrender, letting Merlin scissor his fingers to open him up more. Merlin plunged deeper, curious, exploring, and he nudged up against a small nub that had Arthur _howling,_ bucking his hips so hard that he almost threw Merlin off him.

“Did I hurt you?” Merlin asked in alarm.

Panting, Arthur could only shake his head and slam his body back down onto Merlin’s fingers, trying to recapture the sensation.

Merlin, clever Merlin, got the hint and went searching again. He found it faster this time, pressed harder.

Arthur was going to wake up everyone in the castle at this rate.

“Be as loud as you want,” Merlin murmured into his ear, his breath warm and damp. “I put a silencing spell on the door.”

Arthur groaned. Merlin was using his magic for sex, “That’s so fucking hot-”

Merlin rubbed firmly, and Arthur put the spell to the test, but no one came running to check that he wasn’t being murdered so it must have worked.

“I’m ready,” Arthur insisted, once he managed to catch his breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Arthur promised, so drunk on pleasure that pain was nothing but a distant memory. “Please, Merlin.”

The fingers withdrew, and Arthur could have wept at their absence. But they were soon replaced by the blunt head of Merlin’s cock, pushing against him and then pushing _in_ , slowly, so slowly. Every inch was a hard-won battle, but victory was so close Arthur could practically taste it.

Finally, impatient, he bore down hard and thrust up. Merlin slammed home and they grunted in unison as the impact reverberated through them both.

The moment rested on a precipice, like that shining, weightless feeling at the top of a waterfall. Arthur gazed into Merlin’s eyes and knew that they were joined as one, that this was it for them, that they were taking the plunge together.

“I love you,” Merlin said, and this time it didn’t hurt. This time it was a promise.

The words came easily, shamelessly, in the knowledge that they were welcomed, wanted, trusted. “I love you, too.”

Arthur could see in Merlin’s face that he had all the proof he needed.

The demands of the flesh grew louder, then, and could no longer be denied. Merlin rocked his hips, gently at first, giving Arthur time to adjust, but it wasn’t long until he was setting a hard and fast pace. Arthur locked his ankles around Merlin’s waist to gain better leverage and matched him, thrust for thrust.

Merlin shifted, changing the angle just slightly, and Arthur cried out as the pleasure soared to new heights.

“There?”

“There, right there, oh-”

Merlin hammered the spot with unerring accuracy and Arthur lost the ability to speak, swept up in a wave that crested higher and higher.

A hand curled around his hot, hard length, pumping once, twice, and Arthur was lost. He tumbled helplessly in the surf that crashed against the sand.

Merlin’s rhythm didn’t falter until he had wrung every last drop from Arthur’s trembling body. Then, with a final deep thrust that threatened to fuse them together, he followed Arthur, tumbling over the edge and coating his insides with warm, wet heat.

When Arthur came back to himself, it was to find that Merlin had collapsed on top of him. He was a solid, comforting weight, reminding Arthur of how far they had come since their escape from Briac’s fortress.

But he was also sticky.

“Merlin,” Arthur mumbled, shifting beneath him. “We’re going to end up glued together.”

Merlin nuzzled into his neck, mouthing softly under his jaw. “Mm, I don’t have a problem with that.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and kissed the top of his head, enjoying the texture of his hair and the slight curl of well-earned sweat.

“Alright, alright,” Merlin grumbled. “I think there’s a water jug on the table.” He slipped out of Arthur’s body in a movement that drew a groan from both of them, and his chest lifted up, away from Arthur’s, creating a distance between them that was suddenly unbearable.

“No, I changed my mind,” Arthur said. “Stay here.”

Merlin chuckled, grazing a kiss against his cheek. “I should get you cleaned up. It’s the proper etiquette.”

“I don’t care.” Arthur caught his wrist, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if Merlin moved away from him now, he would never come back. “Don’t leave.”

Merlin gazed down at him, and he must have seen something in Arthur’s eyes because he stopped trying to climb off the bed. “It’s alright,” he promised.

There was a flare of gold, and an odd tingling sensation that swept across Arthur’s skin. As Merlin’s warmth settled back over him, Arthur realised that the mess was gone.

“Magic is amazing,” he exhaled.

Merlin’s smile could have outshone the sun. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, confident and happy. He cuddled in close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

ooOOoo

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, folks! It was a long and painful, angst-filled journey, but Arthur finally got his act together, and Merlin finally saw everything he had worked so hard for come to pass. So begins the Golden Age of Camelot.  
> Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me, and special thanks to those readers who left comments along the way. I hope you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
